Miss Mackenzie

Presented to the

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO
LIBRARY

by the

ONTARIO LEGISLATIVE
LIBRARY

1980

HISS MACKENZIE,

"MISS MACKENZIE"

BY

ANTHONY 'TROLLOPE/

AUTHOR OF

"CAN YOU FORGIVE HER?"

"DOCTOR THORNE,"

"PHINEAS FINN,"

"ORLEY FARM,"

ETC. ETC.

EIGHTH EDITION.

LONDON :
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193 PICCADILLY.

CONTENTS.

-or. ""»

I. THE MACKENZIE FAMILY . • • A

II. MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO LITTLEBATH . 14

m. MISS MACKENZIE'S FIRST ACQUAINTANCES . 27

17. MISS MACKENZIE COMMENCES HER CAREER . 40
V. SHOWING HOW MR. RUBB, JUN., PROGRESSED AT

LITTLEBATH . • • .53

VI. MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO THE CEDARS . 66

YII. MISS MACKENZIE LEAVES THE CEDARS . . 79

vin. MRS. TOM MACKENZIE'S DINNER PARTY. . 92

ix. MISS MACKENZIE'S PHILOSOPHY. . 105

X. PLENARY ABSOLUTION.

XI. MISS TODD ENTERTAINS SOME FRIENDS AT TEA, 131
XH. MRS. STUMFOLD INTERFERES .

xni. MR. MAGUIRE'S COURTSHIP • • 1<>7

xiv. TOM MACKENZIE'S BED-SIDE • .172

XV. THE TEARING OF THE VERSES. • • *&*

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

XVI. LADY BILL'S GRIEVANCE . . . 196

XVII. MR. SLOW'S CHAMBERS . . . 206

XVIII. TRIBULATION . . . 220

XIX. SHOWING HOW TWO OF MISS MACKENZIE'S

LOVERS BEHAVED . . .234

XX. SHOWING HOW THE THIRD LOVER BEHAVED . 250
XXI. MR. MAGUIRE GOES TO LONDON ON BUSINESS . 264
XXII. STILL AT THE "CEDARS . . .279

XXIII. THE LODGINGS OF MRS. BUGGINS, nee PROTHEROE 292

XXIV. THE LITTLE STORY OF THE LION AND THE LAMB 306
XXV. LADY BALL IN ARUNDEL STREET . .318

XXVI. MRS. MACKENZIE OF CAVENDISH SQUARE . 330

XXVII. THE NEGRO SOLDIERS* ORPHAN BAZAAR . 343

XXVIII. SHOWING HOW THE LION WAS STUNG BY THE

WASP .... 358

XXIX. A FRIEND IN HEED IS A FRIEND INDUED . 370

XXX, CONCLUSION • • • 388

MISS MACKENZIE.

CHAPTER I.

THE MACKENZIE FAMILT.

I FEAR I must trouble my reader with some few details as
to the early life of Miss Mackenzie,— details which will be
dull in the telling, but which shall be as short as I can
make them. Her father, who had in early life come from
Scotland to London, had spent all his days in the service of
his country. He became a clerk in Somerset House at the
age of sixteen, and was a clerk in Somerset House when he
died at the age of sixty. Of him no more shall be said
than that his wife had died before him, and that he, at dying,
left behind him two sons and a daughter.

Thomas Mackenzie, the eldest of those two sons, had
engaged himself in commercial pursuits, — as his wife was
accustomed to say when she spoke of her husband's labours ;
or went into trade, and kept a shop, as was more generally
asserted by those of the Mackenzie circle who were wont
to speak their minds freely. The actual and unvarnished
truth in the matter shall now be made known. He, with
his partner, made and sold oilcloth, and was possessed of
premises in the New Road, over which the names of " Rubb
and Mackenzie" were posted in large letters. As you, my

2 MISS MACKENZIE.

reader, might enter therein, and purchase a yard and a half
of oilcloth, if you were so minded, I think that the free-
spoken friends of the family were not far wrong. Mrs.
Thomas Mackenzie, however, declared that she was ca-
lumniated, and her husband cruelly injured ; and she based
her assertions on the fact that " B/ubb and Mackenzie " had
wholesale dealings, and that they sold their article to thf
trade, who re-sold it. Whether or no she was ill-treated in
the matter, I will leave my readers to decide, having told
them all that it is necessary for them to know, in order that
a judgment may be formed.

Walter Mackenzie, the second son, had been placed in his
father's office, and he also had died before the time at which
our story is supposed to commence. He had been a poor
sickly creature, always ailing, gifted with an affectionate
nature, and a great respect for the blood of the Mackenzies,
but not gifted with much else that was intrinsically
his own. The blood of the Mackenzies was, according to
his way of thinking? very pure blood indeed ; and he had
felt strongly that his brother had disgraced the family by
connecting himself with that man Rubb, in the New E/oad.
He had felt this the more strongly, seeing that " Rubb and
Mackenzie " had not done great things in their trade. They
had kept their joint commercial head above water, but had
sometimes barely succeeded in doing that. They had never
been bankrupt, and that, perhaps, for some years was all
that could be said. If a Mackenzie did go into trade, he
should, at any rate, have done better than this. He certainly
should have done better than this, seeing that he started in
life with a considerable sum of money.

Old Mackenzie — he who had come from Scotland — had
been the first cousin of Sir Walter Mackenzie, baronet, of
Insharrow, and he had married the sister of Sir John Ball,
baronet, of the Cedars, Twickenham. The young Mackenzies,
therefore, had reason to be proud of their blood. It is true
that Sir John Ball was the first baronet, and that he had
simply been a political Lord Mayor in strong political days,
— a political Lord Mayor in the leather business ; but, then,
his business had been undoubtedly wholesale ; and a man
who gets himself to be made a baronet cleanses
frora the stains of trade, even though he have traded

THE MACKENZIE FAMILY. 3

leather. And then, the present Mackenzie baronet was tho
ninth of the name ; so that on the higher and nobler side
of the family, our Mackenzies may be said to have been
very strong" indeed. This strength the two clerks in
Somerset House felt and enjoyed very keenly j and it may
therefore be understood that the oilcloth manufactory wad
much out of favour with them.

When Tom Mackenzie was twenty-five, — "Rubb and
Mackenzie " as he afterwards became, — and Walter, at
the age of twenty-one, had been for a year or two placed at
a desk in Somerset House, there died one Jonathan Ball, a
brother of the baronet Ball, leaving all he had in the world
to the two brother Mackenzies. This all was by no means
a trifle, for each brother received about twelve thousand
pounds when the opposing lawsuits instituted by the Ball family
were finished. These opposing lawsuits were carried on
with great vigour, but with no success on the Ball side, for
three years. By that time, Sir Jonn Ball, of the Cedars,
was half ruined, and the Mackenzies got their money. It
is needless to say much to the reader of the manner in
which Tom Mackenzie found his way into trade ; — how, in
the first place, he endeavoured to resume his Uncle Jonathan's
share in the leather business, instigated thereto by a desire
to oppose his Uncle John, — S'ir John, who was opposing
him in the matter of the will ; — how he lost money in this
attempt, and ultimately embarked, after some other fruitless
speculations, the residue of his fortune in partnership with
Mr. Ilubb. All that happened long ago. He was now a
man of nearly fifty, living with his wife and family, — a
family of six or seven children, — in a house in Gower Street,
and things had not gone with him very well.

Nor is it necessary to say very much of Walter Mackenzie,
who had been four years younger than his brother. He had
stuck to the office in spite of his wealth ; and as he had
never married, he had been a rich man. During his father's
lifetime, and when he was quite young, he had for a while
shone in the world of fashion, having been patronised by
the Mackenzie baronet, and by others who thought that a
clerk from Somerset House with twelve thousand pounds
must be a very estimable fellow, He had not, however,
ahcne IV " tery brilliant way. He had gone to parties for
1—2

4 MISS MACKEHZIE,

a year or two, and during those years had essayed the life
of a young man about town, frequenting theatres and billiard
rooms, and doing a few things which he should have left
undone, and leaving undone a few things which should not
have been so left. But, as I have said, he was weak in body
as well as weak in mind. Early in life he became an invalid ;
and though he kept his place in Somerset House till he died,
the period of his shining in the fashionable world came to a
speedy end.

Now, at length, we will come to Margaret Mackenzie, the
sister, our heroine, who was eight years younger than her
brother Walter, and twelve years younger than Mr. Bubb's
partner. She had been little more than a child when her
father died ; or I might more correctly say, that though she had
then reached an age which makes some girls young women,
it had not as yet had that effect upon her. She was then
nineteen ; but her life in her father's house had been dull
and monotonous ; she had gone very little into company,
and knew very little of the ways of the world. The
Mackenzie baronet people had not noticed her. They had
failed to make much of Walter with his twelve thousand
pounds, and did not trouble themselves with Margaret, who
had no fortune of her own. The Ball baronet people were
at extreme variance with all her family, and, as a matter of
course, she received no countenance from them. In those
early days, she did not receive much countenance form any
one ; and perhaps I may say that she had not shown much
claim for such countenance as is often given to young ladies
by their richer relatives. She was neither beautiful nor
clever, nor was she in any special manner made charming
by any of those softnesses and graces of youth which to
some girls seem to atone for a want of beauty and clever-
ness. At the age of nineteen, I may almost say that
Margaret Mackenzie was ungainly. Her brown hair was
rough, and did not form itself into equal lengths. Her
cheek-bones were somewhat high, after the manner of the
Mackenzies. She was thin and straggling in her figure,
with bones larger than they should have been for purpose's
of youthful grace There was not wanting a certain bright-
ness to her grey eyes, and it was a brightness as to the use
of which she had no early knowledge. At this time her

THE MACKENZIE FAMILY. 5

father lived at Camberwell, and I doubt whether the educa*
tion which Margaret received at Miss Green's establishment
for young ladies in that suburb was of a kind to make up
by art for that which nature had not given her. This school,
too, she left at an early age, — at a very early age, as her
age went. When she was nearly sixteen, her father, who
was then almost an old man, became ill, and the next three
years she spent in nursing him. When he died, she was
transferred to her younger brother's house, — to a house
which he had taken in one of the quiet streets leading down
from the Strand to the river, in order that he might be near
his office. And here for fifteen years she had lived, eating
his bread and nursing him, till he also died, and so she
was alone in the world.

Daring those fifteen years, her life had been very weary.
A moated grange in the country is bad enough for the life
of any Mariana, but a moated grange in town is much
worse. Her life in London had been altogether of the
moated grange kind, and long before her brother's death it
had been very wearisome to her. I will not say that she
was always waiting for some one that came not, or that she
declared herself to be a- weary, or that she wished that she
were dead. But the mode of her life was as near that as
prose may be near to poetry, or truth to romance. For
the coming of one, who, as things fell out in that matter,
soon ceased to come at all to her, she had for a while been
anxious. There was a young clerk then in Somerset House,
one Harry Handcock by name, who had visited her brother
in the early days of that long sickness. And Harry Hand-
cock had seen beauty in those grey eyes, and the straggling,
uneven locks had by that time settled themselves into some
form of tidyness, and the big joints, having been covered,
had taken upon themselves softer womanly motions, and the
sister's tenderness to the brother had been appreciated.
Harry Handcock had spoken a word or two, Margaret being
then five-and-twenty, and Harry ten years her senior.
Harry had spoken, and Margaret had listened only too
willingly. But the sick brother up stairs had become cross
and peevish. Such a thing should never take place with
his consent, and Harry Handcock had ceased to speak
tenderly.

6 MISS MACKENZIE.

He had ceased to speak tenderly, though he did not cease
to visit the quiet house in Arundel Street. As far as
Margaret was concerned he might as well have ceased to
come ; and in her heart she sang that song of Mariana's,
complaining bitterly of her weariness ; though the man
was seen then in her brother's sick room regularly once g,
week. For years this went on. The brother would crawl
out to his office in summer, but would never leave his bed-
room in the winter months. In those days these things
were allowed in public offices ; and it was not till very near
the end of his life that certain stern official reformers hinted
at the necessity of his retiring on a pension. Perhaps it
was that hint that killed him. At any rate, he died in
harness, — if it can in truth be said of him that he ever wore
harness. Then, when he was dead, the days were gone in
which Margaret Mackenzie cared for Harry Handcock.
Harry Handcock was still a bachelor, and when the nature
of his late friend's will was ascertained, he said a word or
two to show that he thought he was not yet too old for
matrimony. But Margaret's weariness could not now be
cured in that way. She would have taken him while she
had nothing, or would have taken him in those early days
had fortune filled her lap with gold. But she had seen Harry
Handco'ck at least weekly for the last ten years, and having
seen him without any speech of love, she was not now pre-
pared for the renewal of such speaking.

When Walter Mackenzie died there was a doubt through
all the Mackenzie circle as to what was the destiny of his
money. It was well known that he had been a prudent
man, and that he was possessed of a freehold estate which
gave him at least six hundred a year. It was known also
that he had money saved beyond this. It was known, too,
that Margaret had nothing, or next to nothing, of her own.
The old Mackenzie had had no fortune left to him, and had
felt it to be a grievance that his sons had not joined their
richer lots to his poorer lot. This, of course, had been no
fault of Margaret's, but it had made him feel justified in
leaving his daughter as a burden upon his younger son. For
the last fifteen years she had eaten bread to wliich she had
no .positive claim ; but if ever woman earned the morsel
which she required, Magaret Mackenzie had earned her

THE MACKENZIE FAMILY. 7

morsel during her untiring attendance upon her brother.
Now she was left to her own resources, and as she went
silently about the house during those sad hours which in-
tervened between the death of her brother and his burial,
she was altogether in ignorance whether any means of
subsistence had been left to her. It was known that Walter
Mackenzie had more than once altered his will, — that he
had, indeed, made many wills, — according as he was at such
moments on terms of more or less friendship with his
brother ; but he had never told to any one what was the
nature of any bequest that he had made. Thomas Mac-
kenzie had thought of both his brother and sister as poor
creatures, and had been thought of by them as being but a
poor creature himseif. He had become a shopkeeper, so
they declared, and it must be admitted that Margaret had
shared the feeling which regarded her brother Tom's trade
as being disgraceful. They, of Arundel Street, had been
idle, reckless, useless beings, — so Tom had often declared to
his wife, — and only by fits and starts had there existed any
friendship between him and either of them. But the firm
of Rubb and Mackenzie was not growing richer in those
iays, and both Thomas and his wife had felt themselves
forced into a certain amount of conciliatory demeanour by
the claims of their seven surviving children. Walter, how-
ever, said no word to any one of his money ; and when he
was followed to his grave by his brother and nephews,
and by Harry Handcock, no one knew of what nature would
be the provision made for his sister.

" He was a great sufferer," Harry Handcock had said, at
the only interview which took place between him and
Margaret after the death of her brother and before the
reading of the will.

"Yes indeed, poor fellow," said Margaret, sitting ia
the darkened dining-room, in all the gloom of her new
mourning.

" And you, yourself Margaret, have had but a sorry time
of it." He still called her Margaret from old acquaintance,
and had always done so.

" I have had the blessing of good health," she said, " and
have been very thankful. It has been a dull life, though
ior tlib l&tiL teL yoars."

8 MISS MACKENZIE.

"Women generally lead dull lives, I think." Then he
had paused for a while, as though something were on his
mind which he wished to consider before he spoke again.
Mr. Handcock, at this time, was bald and very stout. Ho
was a strong healthy man, but had about him, to the
outward eye, none of the aptitudes of a lover. He was fond
of eating and drinking, as no one knew better than
Margaret Mackenzie ; and had altogether dropped the
poetries of life, if at any time any of such poetries had be-
longed to him. He was, in fact, ten years older than Mar-
garet Mackenzie ; but he now looked to be almost twenty
years her senior. She was a woman who at thirty-five had
more of the graces of womanhood than had belonged to
her at twenty. He was a man who at forty-five had lost all
that youth does for a man. But still I think that she would
have fallen back upon her former love, and found that to
be sufficient, had he asked her to do so even now. She
would have felt herself bound by her faith to do so, had he
said that such was his wish, before the reading of her
brother's will. But he did no such thing. "I hope he will
Uave made you comfortable," he said.

" I hope he will have left me above want," Margaret had
replied ; — and that had then been all. She had, perhaps,
half-expected something more from him, remembering that
the obstacle which had separated them was now removed.
But nothing more came, and it would hardly be true to say
that she was disappointed. She had no strong desire to
marry Harry Handcock, — whom no one now called Harry
any longer ; but yet, for the sake of human nature, she be-
stowed a sigh upon his coldness, when he carried his
tenderness no further than a wish that she might be com-
fortable.

There had of necessity been much of secrecy in the life
of Margaret Mackenzie. She had possessed no friend to
whom she could express her thoughts and feelings with con-
fidence. I doubt whether any living being knew that
there now existed, up in that small back bedroom in Arundel
Street, quires of manuscript in which Margaret had written
her thoughts and feelings, — hundreds of rhymes which had
never met any eye but her own ; and outspoken words of
contained in letters which had never been sent, or been

THE MACKENZIE FAMILY. 9

intended to be sent, to any destination. Indeed these letters
had been commenced with no name, and finished with no
signature. It would be hardly true to say that they had
been intended for Harry Handcock, even at the warmest
period of her love. They had rather been trials of her
strength, — proofs of what she might do if fortune should
ever be so kind to her as to allow of her loving. No
one had ever guessed all this, or had dreamed of accusing
Margaret of romance. No one capable of testing her
character had known her. In latter days she had now and
again dined in Gower Street, but her sister-in-law, Mrs. Tom
had declared her to be a silent, stupid old maid. As a silent,
stupid old maid, the Mackenzies of Rubb and Mackenzie,
were disposed to regard her. But how should they treat
this stupid old maid of an aunt, if it should now turn out
that all the wealth of the family belonged to her ?

When Walter's will was read such was found to be the
case. There was no doubt, or room for doubt, in the
matter. The will was dated but two months before his death,
and left everything to Margaret, expressing a conviction on
the part of the testator that it was his duty to do so,
because of his sister's unremitting attention to himself.
Harry Handcock was requested to act as executor, and
was requested also to accept a gold watch and a present of
two hundred pounds. Not a word was there in the whole
will of his brother's family ; and Tom, when he went home
with a sad heart, told his wife that all this had come of
certain words which she had spoken when last she had
visited the sick man. " I knew it would be so," said Tom
to his wife. " It can't be helped now, of course. I knew
you could not keep your temper quiet, and always told
you not to go near him." How the wife answered, the
course of our story at the present moment does not require
me to tell. That she did answer with sufficient spirit, no
one, I should say, need doubt ; and it may be surmised
that things in Gower Street were not comfortable that
evening.

Tom Mackenzie had communicated the contents of the
will to his sister, who had declined to be in the room when
it was opened. " He has left you everything, — just every-
thing," Tom had said. If Margaret made any word of

10 MISS MACKENZIE.

reply, Tom did not hear it. "There will be over eight
hundred a-year, and he has left you all the furniture,"
Tom continued. " He has been very good," said Margaret,
hardly knowing how to express herself on such an occasion.
"Very good to you," said Tom, with some little sarcasm
in his voice. " I mean good to me," said Margaret. Then
he told her that Harry Handcock had been named as
executor. "There is no more about him in the will, is
there ? " said Margaret. At the moment, not knowing
much about executors, she had fancied that her brother had,
in making such appointment, expressed some further wish
about Mr. Handcock. Her brother explained to her that
the executor was to have two hundred pounds and a gold
watch, and then she was satisfied.

" Of course, it's a very sad look-out for us," Tom said ;
" but I do not on that account blame you."

" If you did you would wrong me," Margaret an-
swered, "for I never once during all the years that we
lived together spoke to Walter one word about his
money."

" I do not blame you," the brother rejoined ; and then no
more had been said between them.

He had asked her even before the funeral to go up to
Gower Street and stay with them, but she had declined.
Mrs. Tom Mackenzie had not asked her. Mrs. Tom Mac-
kenzie had hoped, then, — had hoped and had inwardly resolved,
— that half, at least, of the dying brother's money would
have come to her husband ; and fO^e had. thought that if she
once encumbf-^^;^1 wit^ the "old maid," the old maid
£J2^ Remain longer than was desirable. " We should
never get rid of her," she had said to her eldest daughter,
Mary Jane. "Never, mamma," Mary Jane had replied.
The mother and daughter had thought that they would be
on the whole safer in not pressing any such invitation.
They had not pressed it, and the old maid had remained in
Arundel Street.

Before Tom left the house, after the reading of the will, he
again invited his sister to his own home. An hour or two
had intervened since he had told her of her position in the
world, and he was astonished at finding 'how composed
and self-assured she was in the tone and manner 01 her

THE MACKENZIE FAMILY. 11

answer. "No, Tom, I think I had better not," she said.
" Sarah will be somewhat disappointed "

" You need not mind that," said Tom.

" I think I had better not. I shall be very glad to see her
if she will come to me ; and I hope you will come, Tom ;
but I think I will remain here till I have made up my mind
what to do." She remained in Arundel Street for the
next three months, and her brother saw her frequently ;
but Mrs. Torn Mackenzie never went to her, and she never
went to Mrs. Tom Mackenzie. " Let it be even so," said
Mrs. Tom ; " they shall not say that I ran after her and her
money. I hate such airs." " So do I, mamma," said
Mary Jane, tossing her head. " I always said that she was
a nasty old maid."

On that same day, — the day on which the will was read,
— Mr. Handcock had also come to her. " I need not tell
you," he had said, as he pressed her hand, " how rejoiced
I am — for your sake, Margaret." Then she had returned
the pressure, and had thanked him for his friendship.
" You know that I have been made executor to the will,"
he continued. " He did this simply to save you from trouble.
I need only promise that I will do anything and everthing
that you can wish." Then he left her, saying nothing of
his suit on that occasion.

Two months after this, — and during those two months
he had necessarily seen her frequently, — Mr. Handcock
Ivrote to her from his office in Somerset House, renewing
iiis old proposals of marriage. His letter was short and
sensible, pleading his cause as well, perhaps, as any words
were capable of pleading it at this time ; but it was not
successful. As to her money he told her that no doubt he
regarded it now as a great addition to their chance of
happiness, should they put their lots together ; and as to
his love for her, he referred her to the days in which he
had desired to make her his wife without a shilling of
fortune. He had never changed, he said ; and if her heart
was as constant as his, he would make good now the
proposal which she had once been willing to accept. His
income was not equal to hers, but it was not inconsider-
able^ and therefore as regards means they would be very
comfortable. Such were his arguments, and Margaret,

12 MISS MACKENZIE.

little as she knew of the world, was able to perceive
that he expected that they would succeed with her.

Little, however, as she might know of the world, she was
not prepared to sacrifice herself and her new freedom, and
her new power and her new wealth, to Mr. Harry Hand-
cock. One word said to her when first she was free and
before she was rich, would have carried her. But an argu-
mentative, well-worded letter, written to her two months
after the fact of her freedom and the fact of her wealth had
sunk into his mind, was powerless on her. She had looked
at her glass and had perceived that years had improved her,
whereas years had not improved Harry Handcock. She had
gone back over her old aspirations, aspirations of which no
whisper had ever been uttered, but which had not the less
been strong within her, and had told herself that she could
not gratify them by a union with Mr. Handcock. She
thought, or rather hoped, that society might still open to her
its portals, — not simply the society of the Handcocks from
Somerset House, but that society of which she had read in
novels during the day, and of which she had dreamed at
night. Might it not yet be given to her to know clever
people, nice people, bright people, people who were not
heavy and fat like Mr. Handcock, or sick and wearisome
like her poor brother Walter, or vulgar and quarrelsome
like her relatives in Gower Street? She reminded herself
that she was the niece of one baronet, and the first-cousin
once removed of another, that she had, eight hundred a-year,
and liberty to do with it whatsoever she pleased j and she
reminded herself, also, that she had higher tastes in the
world than Mr. Handcock. Therefore she wrote to him an
answer, much longer than his letter, in which she explained
to him that the more than ten years' interval which had
elapsed since words of love had passed between them had —
had — had — changed the nature of her regard. After much
hesitation, that was the phrase which she used.

And she was right in her decision. Whether or no she
was doomed to be disappointed in her aspirations, or to be
partially disappointed and partially gratified, these pages
are written to tell. But 1 think we may conclude that she
would hardly have made herself happy by marrying Mr.
Handcock while such aspirations were strong u^ou her

THE MACKENZIB FA&ILT. 13

There was nothing- on her side in favour of such a marriage
but a faint remembrance of auld lang syne.

She remained three months in Arundel Street, and before
that period was over she made a proposition to her brother
Torn, showing to what extent she was willing to burden
herself on behalf of his family. Would he allow her, she
asked, to undertake the education and charge of his second
daughter, Susanna ? She would not offer to adopt her niece,
she said, because it was on the cards that she herself might
marry ; but she would promise to take upon herself the full
expense of the girl's education, and all charge of her till
such education should be completed. If then any future
guardianship on her part should have become incompatible
with her own circumstances, she should give Susanna five
hundred pounds. There was an air of business about this
which quite startled Tom Mackenzie, who, as has before
been said, had taught himself in old days to regard his sister
as a poor creature. There was specially an air of business
about her allusion to her own future state. Tom was not at
all surprised that his sister should think of marrying, but
he was much surprised that she should dare to declare her
thoughts. "Of course she will marry the first fool that
asks her," said Mrs. Tom. The father of the large family,
however, pronounced the offer to be too good to be refused.
" If she does, she will keep her word about the five hundred
pounds," he said. Mrs. Tom, though she demurred, of
course gave way ; and when Margaret Mackenzie left
London for Littlebath, where lodgings had been taken fot
her, she took her niece Susanna with her.

14 MISS MACKENZIE

CHAPTER H

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO LITTLEBATH.

I FEAR that Miss Mackenzie, when she betook herself to
Littlebath, had before her mind's eye no sufficiently settled
plan of life. She wished to live pleasantly, and perhaps
fashionably ; but she also desired to live respectably, and
with a due regard to religion. How she was to set about
doing this at Littlebath, I am afraid she did not quite know.
She told herself over and over again that wealth entailed
duties as well as privileges ; but she had no clear idea what
were the duties so entailed, or what were the privileges.
How could she have obtained any clear idea on the subject
in that prison which she had inhabited for so many years by
her brother's bed-side ?

She had indeed been induced to migrate from London to
Litfclebath by an accident which should not have been
allowed to actuate her. She had been ill, and the doctor,
with that solicitude which doctors sometimes feel for ladies
who are well to do in the world, had recommended change
of air. Littlebath, among the Tantivy hills, would be the
very place for her. There were waters at Littlebath which
she might drink for a month or two with great advantage
to her system. It was then the end of July, and everybody
that was anybody was going out of town. Suppose she were
to go to Littlebath in August, and stay there for a month, or
perhaps two months, as she might feel inclined. The London
doctor knew a Littlebath doctor, and would be so happy to
give her a letter. Then the spoke to the clergyman of the
church she had latelv attended in London who also had

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO LJTTLEBATH. I

become more energetic in his assistance since her brother's
death than he had been before, and he also could give her a
letter to a gentleman of his cloth at Littlebath. She knew
very little in private life of the doctor or of the clergyman
in London, but not the less, on that account, might their
introductions be of service to her in forming a circle of
acquaintance at Littlebath. In this way she first came to
think of Littlebath, and from this beginning she had gradually
reached her decision.

Another little accident, or two other little accidents, had
nearly induced her to remain in London, — not in Arundel
Street, which was to her an odious locality, but in some
small genteel house in or about Brompton. She had written
to the two baronets to announce to them her brother's death,
Tom Mackenzie, the surviving brother, having positively
refused to hold any communication with either of them. To
both these letters, after some interval, she received courteous
replies. Sir Walter Mackenzie was a very old man, over
eighty, who now never stirred away from Incharrow, in
Ross-shire. Lady Mackenzie was not living. Sir Walter
did not write himself, but a letter came from Mrs. Mackenzie,
his eldest son's wife, in which she said that she and her husband
would be up in London in the course of the next spring, and
hoped that they might then have the pleasure of making
their cousin's acquaintance. This letter, it was true, did not
come till the beginning of August, when the Littlebath plan
was nearly formed ; and Margaret knew that her cousin,
who was in Parliament, had himself been in London almost
up to the time at which it was written, so that he might
have called had he chosen. But she was prepared to forgive
much. There had been cause for offence ; and if her great
relatives were now prepared to take her by the hand, there
could be no reason why she should not consent to be so
taken. Sir John Ball, the other baronet, had absolutely
come to her, and had seen her. There had been a regular
scene of reconciliation, and she had gone down for a day and
night to the Cedars. Sir John also was an old man, being
over seventy, and Lady Ball was nearly as old. Mr. Ball,
the future baronet, had also been there. He was a widower,
with a large family and small means. He had been and of
course still was, a barrister ; but as a barrister he had never

16 MISS MACKENZIE.

succeeded, and was now waiting sadly till he should inner
the very moderate fortune which would come to him at hi
father's death. The Balls, indeed, had not done well with
their baronetcy, and their cousin found them living with
a degree of strictness, as to small expenses, which she
herself had never been called upon to exercise. Lady Ball
indeed had a carriage, — for what would a baronet's wife do
without one ? — but it did not very often go out. And the
Cedars was an old place, with grounds and paddocks appertain-
ing ; but the ancient solitary gardener could not make much of
the grounds, and the grass of the paddocks was always sold.
Margaret, when she was first asked to go to the Cedars, felt
that it would be better for her to give up her migration to
Littlebath. It would be much, she thought, to have her
relations near to her. But she had found Sir John and Lady
Ball to be very dull, and her cousin, the father of the large
family, had spoken to her about little except money. She
was not much in love with the Balls when she returned to
London, and the Littlebath plan was allowed to go on.

She made a preliminary journey to that place, and took
furnished lodgings in the Paragon. Now it is known to all
the world that the Paragon is the nucleus of all that is
pleasant and fashionable at Littlebath. It is a long row
of houses with two short rows abutting from the ends of the
long row, and every house in it looks out upon the
Montpelier Gardens. If not built of stone, these houses are
built of such stucco that the Margaret Mackeuzies of the
world do not know the difference. Six steps, which are of
undoubted stone, lead up to each door. The areas are grand
with high railings. The flagged way before the houses is
very broad, and at each corner there is an extensive sweop,
so that the carriages of the Paragonites may be made to
turn easily. Miss Mackenzie's heart sank a little within her
at the sight of all this grandeur, when she was first taken to
the Paragon by her new friend the doctor. But she bade her
heart be of good courage, and looked at the first floor, —
divided into dining-room and drawing-room, — at the large
bed-room up stairs for herself, and two small rooms for her
niece and her. maid-servant, — at the kitchen in which sho
was to have a partial property, and did not faint at the
splendour. And yet how different it was from those dingy

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO LITTLEBATH. 17

tj^ooms in Arundel Street ! So different that she could hardly
?ebring herself to think that this bright abode could become
her own.

" And what is the price, Mrs. Richards ? " Her voice
almost did fail her as she asked this question. She was
determined to be liberal ; but money of her own had hitherto
been so scarce with her, that she still dreaded the idea of
expense.

" The price, mem, is well beknown to all as knows Little-
bath. We never alters. Ask Dr. Pottinger else."

Miss Mackenzie did not at all wish to ask Dr. Pottinger,
who was at this moment standing in the front room, while
she and her embryo landlady were settling affairs in the
back room.

" But what is the price, Mrs. Richards ? "

" The price, mem, is two pound ten a week, or nine guineas
if taken by the month, — to include the kitchen fire."

Margaret breathed again. She had made her little cal-
culations over and over again, and was prepared to bid as
high as the sum now named for such a combination of com-
fort and splendour as Mrs. Richards was able to offer to her.
One little question she asked, putting her lips close to Mrs.
Richards' ear so that her friend the doctor should not hear
her through the doorway, and then jumped back a yard and
a half, awe- struck by the energy of her landlady's reply.

"B s in the Paragon!" Mrs. Richards declared

that Miss Mackenzie did not as yet know Littlebath. She
bethought herself that she did know Arundel Street, and
again thanked Fortune for all the good things that had
been given to her.

Miss Mackenzie feared to ask any further questions after
this, and took the rooms out of hand by the month.

"And very comfortable you'll find yourself," said Dr.
Pottinger, as he walked back with his new friend to the
inn. He had perhaps been a little disappointed when he
saw that Miss Mackenzie showed every sign of good
Health ; but he bore it like a man and a Christian, re-
membering, no doubt, that let a lady's health be ever so
good, she likes to see a doctor sometimes, especially if she
be alone in the world. He offered her, therefore, every
assistance ir. his power.
2

MACKENZIE.

" The assembly rooms were quite close to the Paragon,**
hfl said.

" Oh, indeed ! " said Miss Mackenzie, not quite knowing
the purport of assembly rooms.

"And there are two or three churches within five
minutes' walk." Here Miss Mackenzie was more at home,
and mentioned the name of the E/ev. Mr. Stumfold, for
whom she had a letter of introduction, and whose church she
would like to attend.

Now Mr. Stumfold was a shining light at Littlebath, the
man of men, if he was not something more than mere man,
in the eyes of the devout inhabitants of that town. Miss
Mackenzie had never heard of Mr. Stumfold till her clergy-
man in London had mentioned his name, and even now had
no idea that he was remarkable for any special views in
Church matters. Such special views of her own she had
none. But Mr. Stumfold at Littlebath had very special
views, and was very specially known for them. His friends
said that he was evangelical, and his enemies said that he
was Low Church. He himself was wont to laugh at these
names, — for he was a man who could laugh, — and to declare
that his only ambition was to fight the devil under what-
ever name he might be allowed to carry on that battle.
And he was always fighting the devil by opposing those
pursuits which are the life and mainstay of such places as
Littlebath. His chief enemies were card-playing and danc-
ing as regarded the weaker sex, and hunting and horse-
racing, — to which, indeed, might be added everything under
the name of sport, — as regarded the stronger. Sunday
comforts were also enemies which he hated with a vigorous
hatred, unless three full services a day, with sundry inter-
mediate religious readings and exercitations of the spirit,
may be called Sunday comforts. But not on this account
should it be supposed that Mr. Stumfold was a dreary, dark,
sardonic man. Such was by no means the case. He could
laugh loud. He could be very jovial at dinner parties.
He could make his little jokes about little pet wickednesses.
A glass of wine, in season, he never refused. Pic-nics he
allowed, and the flirtation accompanying them. He himself
was driven about behind a pair of horses, and his daughters
were horsewomen. His sons, if the world spoke truth,

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO LITTLEBATH. 1

were Nimrods ; but that was in another county, away from
the Tantivy hills, and Mr. Stumfold knew nothing- of it.
In Littlebath Mr. Stumfold reigned over his own set as a
tyrant, but to those who obeyed him he was never austere in
his tyranny.

When Miss Mackenzie mentioned Mr. Stumfold's name to
the doctor, the doctor felt that he had been wrong in his
allusion to the assembly rooms. Mr. Stumfold's people
never went to assembly rooms. He, a doctor of medicine, of
course went among saints and sinners alike, but in such a
place as Littlebath he had found it expedient to have one
tone for the saints, and another for the sinners. Now the
Paragon was generally inhabited by sinners, and therefore
he had made his hint about the assembly rooms. He at
once pointed out Mr. Stumfold's church, the spire of which
was to be seen as they walked towards the inn, and said a
word in praise of that good man. Not a syllable would he
again have uttered as to the wickednesses of the place, had
not Miss Mackenzie asked some questions as to those
assembly rooms.

"How did people get to belong to them ? Were they
pleasant ? What did they do there ? Oh ; — she could put
her name down, could she ? If it was anything in the way
of amusement she would certainly like to put her name
down." Dr. Pottinger, when on than afternoon he instructed
his wife to call on Miss Mackenzie as soon as that young
lady should be settled, explained that the stranger was very
much in the dark as to the ways and manners of Littlebath.

" What ! go to the assembly rooms, and sit under Mr.
Stumfold ! " said Mrs. Pottinger. " She never can do
both, you know."

Miss Mackenzie went back to London, and returned at the
end of a week with her niece, her new maid, and her boxes.
All the old furniture had been sold, and her personal belong-
ings were very scanty. The time had now come in which
personal belongings would accrue to her, but when she
reached the Paragon one big trunk and one small trunk
contained all that she possessed. The luggage of her niece
Susanna was almost as copious as her own. Her maid had
been newly hired, and she was almost ashamed of the
scantiness of her own possessions in the eyes of her servant,
2—2

20 MISS MACKENZIE.

The way in which Susanna had been given up to her had
been oppressive, and at one moment almost distressing.
That objection which each lady had to visit the other, —
Miss Mackenzie, that is, and Susanna's mamma, — had never
been overcome, and neither side had given way. No visit
of affection or of friendship had been made. But as it was
needful that the transfer of the young lady should be effected
with some solemnity, Mrs. Mackenzie had condescended to
bring her to her future guardian's lodgings on the day
before that fixed for the journey to Littlebath. To so much
degradation, — for in her eyes it was degradation, — Mrs.
Mackenzie had consented to subject herself; and Mr.
Mackenzie was to come on the following morning, and take
his sister and daughter to the train.

The mother, as soon as she found herself seated and
almost before she had recovered the breath lost in mounting
the lodging-house stairs, began the speech which she had
prepared for delivery on the occasion. Miss Mackenzie,
who had taken Susanna's hand, remained with it in her
own during* the greater part of the speech. Before the
speech was done the poor girl's hand had been dropped,
but in dropping it the aunt was not guilty of any un-
kindness.

" Margaret," said Mrs. Mackenzie, this is a trial, a very
great trial to a mother, and I hope that you feel it as
I do."

" Sarah," said Miss Mackenzie, " I will do my duty by
your child."

" Well ; yes; I hope so. If I thought you would not do
your duty by her, no consideration of mere money would
induce me to let her go to you. But I do hope, Margaret,
you will think of the greatness of the sacrifice we are mak-
ing. There never was a better child than Susanna."

"I am very glad of that, S.arah."

" Indeed, there never was a better child than any of 'em ;
I will say that for them before the child herself; and if you
do your duty by her, I'm quite sure she'll do hers by you.
Tom thinks it best that she should go ; and, of course, as
all the money which should have gone to him has come to
you " — it was here, at this point that Susanna's hand was
dropped — " and as you haven't got a chick nor a child, nor

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO LITTLEBATH. 21

yet anybody else of your own, no doubt it is natural that you
should wish to have one of them."

I wish to do a kindness to my brother," said Miss Mac-
kenzie,— "and to my niece."

" Yes ; of course ; I understand. When you would not
come up to see us, Margaret, and you all alone, and we with
a comfortable home to offer you, of course I knew what your
feelings were towards me. I don't want anybody to tell me
that ! Oh dear, no ! ' Tom,' said I when he asked me to go
down to Arundel Street, ' not if I know it.' Those were the
very words I uttered : ' Not if I know it, Tom ! ' And your
papa never asked me to go again ; — did he, Susanna ? Nor I
couldn't have brought myself to. As you are so frank,
Margaret, perhaps candour is the best on both sides. Now
I am going to leave my darling child in your hands, and if
you have got a mother's heart within your bosom, I hope you
will do a mother's duty by her."

More than once during this oration Miss Mackenzie had
felt inclined to speak her mind out, and to fight her own
battle ; but she wras repressed by the presence of the girl.
What chance could there be of good feeling, of aught of
affection between her and her ward, if on such an occasion
as this the girl were made the witness of a quarrel between
her mother and her aunt ? Miss Mackenzie's face had
become red, and she had felt herself to be angry ; but she
bore it all with good courage.

" I will do my best," said she, " Susanna, come here and
kiss me. Shall we be great friends ? " Susanna went and
kissed her ; but if the poor girl attempted any answer it
was not audible. Then the mother threw herself on the
daughter's neck, and the two embraced each other with many
tears.

" You'll find all her things very tidy, and plenty of 'em,"
said Mrs. Mackenzie through her tears. " I'm sure we've
worked hard enough at 'em for the last three weeks."

"I've no doubt we shall find it all very nice," said tha
aunt.

" We wouldn't send her away to disgrace us, were it ever
so ; though of course in the way of money it would make
no difference to you if she had come without a thing to
her back. But I've that spirit I couldn't do it, and so I

22 MISM MACKENZIE.

told Tom." After this Mrs. Mackenzie once more embraced
her daughter, and then took her departure.

Miss Mackenzie, as soon as her sister-in-law was gone,
again took the girl's hand in her own. Poor Susanna was
in tears, and indeed there was enough in her circumstances
at the present moment to justify her in weeping. She had
been given over to her new destiny in no joyous manner.

" Susanna," said Aunt Margaret, with her softest voice,
" I'm so glad you have come to me. I will love you very
dearly if you will let me."

The girl came and clustered close against her as she sat
on the sofa, and so contrived as to creep in under her arm.
No one had ever crept in under her arm, or clung close to
her before. Such outward signs of affection as that had
never been hers, either to give or to receive.

"My darling," she said, "I will love you so dearly."
Susanna said nothing, not knowing what words would be
fitted for such an occasion, but on hearing her aunt's assur-
ance of affection, she clung still closer to her, and in this
way they became happy before the evening was over.

This adopted niece was no child when she was thus placed
under her aunt's charge. She was already fifteen, and
though she was young looking for her age, — having none of
that precocious air of womanhood which some girls have
assumed by that time, — she was a strong healthy well-
grown lass, standing stoutly on her legs, with her head well
balanced, with a straight back, and well-formed though not
slender waist. She was sharp about the shoulders and
elbows, as girls are, — or should be, — at that age ; and her
face was not formed into any definite shape of beauty, or its
reverse. But her eyes were bright, — as were those of all
the Mackenzies, — and her mouth was not the mouth of a
fool. If her cheek bones were a little high, and the lower
part of her face somewhat angular, those peculiarities were
probably not distasteful to the eyes of her aunt.

" You're a Mackenzie all over," said the aunt, speaking
with some little touch of the northern burr in her voice,
though she herself had never known anything of the
north.

" That's what mamma's brothers and sisters alwajs tell
me. They say I am Scotchj."

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO LITTLEBATH. 23

Then Miss Mackenzie kissed the girl again. If Susanna
had been sent to her because she had in her gait and
appearance more of the land of cakes than any of her
brothers and sisters, that at any rate should do her no harm
in the estimation of her aunt. Thus in this way they
became friends.

On the following morning Mr. Mackenzie came and took
them down to the train.

" I suppose we shall see you sometimes up in London ? "
ae said, as he stood by the door of the carriage.

" I don't know that there will be much to bring me up,"
she answered.

"And there won't be much to keep you down in the
country," said he. " You don't know anybody at Littlebath,
I believe?"

" The truth is, Tom, that I don't know anybody anywhere.
I'm likely to know as many people at Littlebath as I should
in London. But situated as I am, I must live pretty much
to myself wherever I am."

Then the guard came bustling along the platform, the
father kissed his daughter for the last time, and kissed his
sister also, and our heroine with her young charge had
taken her departure, and commenced her career in the
world.

" For many a mile not a word was spoken between Miss
Mackenzie and her niece. The mii>i of the elder of the two
travellers was very full of thought, — of thought and of
feeling too, so that she could not bring herself to speak
joyously to the young girl. She iittd her doubts as to the
wisdom of what she was doing. Her whole life, hitherto,
had been sad, sombre, and, we may almost say, silent.
Things had so gone with her that she had had no power of
action on her own behalf. Neither with her father, nor
with her mother, though both kad been invalids, had any-
thing of the management of affairs fallen into her hands.
Not even in the hiring or discharging of a cookmaid had she
possessed any influence. No power of the purse had been
with her, — none of that power which belongs legitimately to
a wife because a wife is a partner in the business. The two
sick men whom she had nursed had liked to retain in their
own hands the little privileges which their position had

24 MISS MACKENZIE.

given them. Margaret, therefore, had been a nurse in their
houses, and nothing more than a nurse. Had this gone on
tor another ten years she would have lived down the
ambition of any more exciting career, and would have been
satisfied, had she then come into the possession of the money
which was now hers, to have ended her days nursing
herself ; — or more probably, as she was by nature unselfish,
fine would have lived down her pride as well as her
ambition, and would have gone to the house of her brother
and have expended herself in nursing her nephews and
nieces. But luckily for her, — or unluckily, as it may be, —
this money had come to her before her time for withering
had arrived. In heart, and energy, and desire, there was
still much of strength left to her. Indeed it may be said of
her, that she had come so late in life to whatever of ripeness
was to be vouchsafed to her, that perhaps the period of her
thraldom had not terminated itself a day too soon for her
advantage. Many of her youthful verses she had destroyed
in the packing up of those two modest trunks ; but there were
effusions of the spirit which had flown into rhyme within the
last twelve months, and which she still preserved. Since
her brother's death she had confined herself to simple prose,
and for this purpose she kept an ample journal. All
this is mentioned - to show, that at the age of thirty-six
Margaret Mackenzie was still a young woman.

She had resolved that she would not content herself with
a lifeless life, such as those few who knew anything of her
evidently expected from her. Harry Handcock had thought
to make her his head nurse ; and the Tom Mackenzies had
also indulged some such idea when they gave her that first
invitation to come and live in Gower Street. A word or
two had been said at the Cedars which led her to suppose
that the baronet's family then would have admitted her,
with her eight hundred a-year, had she chosen to be so
admitted. But she had declared to herself that she would
make a struggle to do better with herself and with her
money than that. She would go into the world, and see if
she could find any of those pleasantnesses of which she had
read in books. As for dancing, she was too old, and never
yet in her life had she stood up as a worshipper of
Terpsichore. Of cards she knew nothing ; she had neve*

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO LITTLEBATH. 25

even seen them used. To the performance of plays she had
oeen once or twice in her early days, and now regarded a
theatre not as a sink of wickedness after the manner of the
Stumfoldians, but as a place of danger because of difficulty
of ingress and egress, and because the ways of a theatre were
far beyond her ken. The very mode in which it would behove
her to dress herself to go out to an ordinary dinner party,
was almost unknown to her. And yet, in spite of all this,
she was resolved to try.

Would it not have been easier for her, — easier and more
comfortable, — to have abandoned all ideas of the world, and
have put herself at once under the tutelage and protection
of some clergyman who would have told her how to give
away her money, and prepare herself in the right way for a
comfortable death-bed ? There was much in this view of
life to recommend it. It would be very easy, and she had
the necessary faith. Such a clergyman, too, would be a
comfortable friend, and, if a married man, might be a very
dear friend. And there might, probably, be a clergyman's
wife, who would go about with her, and assist in that giving
away of her money. Would not this be the best life after
all ? But in order to reconcile herself altogether to such a
life as that, it was necessary that she should be convinced
that the other life was abominable, wicked, and damnable.
She had seen enough of things, — had looked far enough into
the ways of the world, — to perceive this. She knew that she
must go about such work with strong convictions, and as
yet she could not bring herself to think that " dancing and
delights" were damnable. No doubt she would come to
have such belief if told so often enough by some persuasive
divine ; but she was not sure that she wished to believe it.

After doubting much, she had determined to give the
world a trial, and, feeling that London was too big for her,
had resolved upon Littlebath. But now having started her-
self upon her journey, she felt as some mariner might who
had put himself out alone to sea in a small boat, with
courage enough for the attempt, but without that sort of
courage which would make the attempt itself delightful.

And then this girl that was with her ! She had told
herself that it would not be well to live for herself alone,
that it was her duty to share her good things with some one,

26 HIgS MACKENZIE.

and therefore she had resolved to share them with her niece,
But in this guardianship there was danger, which frightened
her as she thought of it .

" Are you tired yet, my dear ? " said Miss Mackenzie, as
they got to Swindon.

" Oh dear, no ; I'm not at all tired."

" There are cakes in there, I see. I wonder whether we
should have time to buy one."

After considering the matter for five minutes in doubt,
Aunt Margaret did rush out, *wd djd buy the cakes.

MISS MACKENZIE'S FIBST ACQUAINTANCE. 2H

CHAPTER HI.

MISS MACKENZIE'S FIRST ACQUAINTANCES.

IN the first fortnight of Miss Mackenzie's sojourn at
Littlebath, four persons called upon her; but though this
was a success as far as it went, those fourteen days were
very dull. Daring her former short visit to the place she
had arranged to send her niece to a day school, which had
been recommended to her as being very genteel, and con-
ducted under moral and religious auspices of most exalted
character. Hither Susanna went every morning after
breakfast, and returned home in these summer days at eight
o'clock in the evening. On Sundays also, she went to
morning church with the other girls ; so that Miss Mac-
kenzie was left very much to herself.

Mrs. Pottinger was the first to call, and the doctor's wife
contented herself with simple offers of general assistance.
She named a baker to Miss Mackenzie, and a dressmaker ;
and she told her what was the proper price to be paid by
the hour for a private brougham or for a public fly. All
this was useful, as Miss Mackenzie was in a state of densest
ignorance ; but it did not seem that much in the way of
amusement would come from the acquaintance of Mrs.
Pottinger. That lady said nothing about the assembly
rooms, nor did she speak of the Stumfoldian manner of life.
Her husband had no doubt explained to her that the stranger
was not as yet a declared disciple in either school. Miss
Mackenzie had wished to ask a question about the assem-
blies, but had been deterred by fear. Then came Mr.
Stumfold in person, and, of course, nothing about the

28 MISS MACKENZIE.

assembly rooms was said by him. He made himself very
pleasant, and Miss Mackenzie almost resolved to put herself
into his hands. He did not look sour at her, nor did he
browbeat her with severe words, nor did he exact from her
the performance of any hard duties. He promised to find
her a seat in his church, and told her what were the hours
of service. He had three " Sabbath services," but he thought
that regular attendance twice every Sunday was enough for
people in general. He would be delighted to be of use, and
Mrs. Stumfold should come and call. Having promised
this, he went his way. Then came Mrs. Stumfold, according
to promise, bringing* with her one Miss Baker, a maiden
lady. From Mrs. Stumfold our friend got very little as-
sistance. Mrs. Stumfold was hard, severe, and perhaps a
little grand. She let fall a word or two which intimated
her conviction that Miss Mackenzie was to become at all
points a Stumfoldian, since she had herself invoked the
countenance and assistance of the great man on her first
arrival ; but beyond this, Mrs. Stumfold afforded no comfort.
Our friend could not have explained to herself why it was so,
but after having encountered Mrs. Stumfold, she was less
inclined to become a disciple than she had been when she
had seen only the great master himself. It was not only
that Mrs. Stumfold, as judged by externals, was felt to be
more severe than her husband evangelically, but she was
more severe also ecclesiastically. Miss Mackenzie thought
that she could probably obey the ecclesiastical man, but that
she would certainly rebel against the ecclesiastical
woman.

There had been, as I have said, a Miss Baker with the
female minister, and Miss Mackenzie had at once perceived
that had Miss Baker called alone, the whole thing would
have been much more pleasant. Miss Baker had a soft voice,
was given to a good deal of gentle talking, was kind in her
manner, and prone to quick intimacies with other ladies of
her own nature. All this Miss Mackenzie felt rather than
saw, and would have been delighted to have had Miss Baker
without Mrs. Stumfold. She could, she knew, have found
out all about everything in five minutes, had she and Miss
Baker been able to sit close together and to let their tongues
loose. But Miss Baker, poor soul, was in these days

MISS MACKENZIE'S FIRST ACQUAINTANCES. 2§

thoroughly subject to the female Stumfold influence, and
went about the world of Littlebath in a repressed manner
that was truly pitiable to those who had known her before
the days of her slavery.

But, as she rose to leave the room at her tyrant's bidding,
she spoke a word of comfort. " A friend of mine, Miss
Mackenzie, lives next door to you, and she has begged me to
say that she will do herself the pleasure of calling on you, if
you will allow her."

The poor woman hesitated as she made her littlft
speech, and once cast her eye round in fear upon her
companion.

" I'm sure I shall be delighted," said Miss Mackenzie.

" That's Miss Todd, is it ? " said Mrs. Stumfold ; and it
was made manifest by Mrs. Stumfold's voice that Mrs.
Stumfold did not think much of Miss Todd.

" Yes ; Miss Todd. Yon see she is so close a neighbour,"
said Miss Baker, apologetically.

Mrs. Stumfold shook her head, and then went away with-
out further speech.

Miss Mackenzie became at once impatient for Miss Todd's
arrival, and was induced to keep an eye restlessly at watch
on the two neighbouring doors in the Paragon, in order that
she might see Miss Todd at the moment of some entrance or
exit. Twice she did see a lady come out from the house
next her own on the right, a stout jolly-looking dame, with
a red face and a capacious bonnet, who closed the door be-
hind her with a slam, and looked as though she would care
little for either male Stumfold or female. Miss Mackenzie,
however, made up her min4 that this was not Miss Todd.
This lady, she thought, was 'a married lady ; on one occasion
there had been children with her, and she was, in Miss
Mackenzie's judgment, too stout, too decided, and perhaps
too loud to be a spinster. A full week passed by before this
question was decided by the promised visit, — a week during
which the new comer never left her house at any hour at
which callers could be expected to call, so anxious was sho
to become acquainted with her neighbour ; and she had
almost given the matter up in despair, thinking that Mrs.
Stumfold had interfered with her tyranny, when, one day
immediately after lunch, — in these days Miss Mackenzie

30 MISS MACKENZIE.

always lunched, but seldom dined, — when one day imme-
diately after lunch, Miss Todd was announced.

Miss Mackenzie immediately saw that she had been
wrong. Miss Todd was the stout, red-faced lady with the
children. Two of the children, girls of eleven and thirteen,
were with her now. As Miss Todd walked across the room
to shake hands with her new acquaintance, Miss Mackenzie
at once recognised the manner in which the street door had
been slammed, and knew that it was the same firm step
which she had heard on the pavement half down the
Paragon.

" My friend, Miss Baker, told me you had come to live
next door to me," began Miss Todd, " and therefore I told
her to tell you that I should come and see you. Single
ladies, when they come here, generally like some one to come
to them. I'm single myself, and these are my nieces. You've
got a niece, I believe, too. When the Popes have nephews,
people say all manner of ill-natured things. I hope they
ain't so uncivil to us."

Miss Mackenzie smirked and smiled, and assured Miss
Todd that she was very glad to see her. The allusion to the
Popes she did not understand.

"Miss Baker came with Mrs. Stumfold, didn't she?"
continued Miss Todd. " She doesn't' go much anywhere
now without Mrs. Stumfold, unless when she creeps down to
me. She and I are very old friends. Have you known Mr.
Stumfold long ? Perhaps you have come here to be near
him ; a great many ladies do."

In answer to this, Miss Mackenzie explained that she was
not a follower of Mr. Stumfold in that sense. It was true
that she had brought a letter to him, and intended to go to
his church. In consequence of that letter, Mrs. Stumfold
had been good enough to call upon her.

" Oh yes ; she'll come to you quick enough. Did she
come with her carriage and horses ? "

" I think she was on foot," said Miss Mackenzie.

" Then I should tell her of- it. Coming to you, in the best
house in the Paragon, on your first arrival, she ought to
have come with her carriage and horses."

" Tell her of it ! " said Misa Mackenzie.

" A great many ladies would, and would go over to the

Miss MACKENZIE'S FIRST ACQUAINTANCES. 31

enemy before the month was over, unless she brought the
carriage in the meantime. I don't advise you to do so. You
haven't got standing enough in the place yet, and perhaps
she could put you down."

" But it makes no difference to me how she comes."

" None in the least, my de-ar, or to me either. I should
be glad to see her even in a wheelbarrow for my part. But
you mustn't suppose that she ever comes to me. Lord bless
you ! no. She found me out to be past all grace ever so
many years ago."

" Mrs. Stumfold thinks that Aunt Sally is the old gentle-
man himself," said the elder of the girls.

" Ha, ha, ha," laughed the aunt. " You see, Miss Mac-
kenzie, we run very much into parties here, as they do in
most places of this kind, and if you mean to go thoroughly
in with the Stumfold party you just tell me so, candidly, and
there won't be any bones broken between us. I shan't like
you the less for saying so : only in that case it won't
be any use our trying to see much of each other."

Miss Mackenzie was somewhat frightened, and hardly
knew what answer to make. She was very anxious to
have it understood that she was not, as yet, in bond
under Mrs. Stumfold, — that it was still a matter of choice
to herself whether she would be a saint or a sinner ; and
she would have been so glad to hint to her neighbour
that she would like to try the sinner's line, if it were
only for a month or two ; only Miss Todd frightened her !
And when the girl told her that Miss Todd was regarded,
ex parte Stumfold, as being the old gentleman himself, Miss
Mackenzie again thought for an instant that there would
be safety in giving way to the evangelico-ecclesiastical
influence, and that perhaps life might be pleasant enough
to her if she could be allowed to go about in couples
with that soft Miss Baker.

" As you have been so good as to call," said Miss
Mackenzie, " I hope you will allow me to return your
visit."

" Oh, dear, yes ; — shall be quite delighted to see you.
You can't hurt me, you know. The question is, whether
I shan't ruin you. Not that I and Mr. Stumfold ain't
great cronies. He and I meet about on neutral ground,

32 MISS MACKENZIE,

and are the best friends in the world. He knows I'm
a lost sheep, — a gone 'coon, as the Americans say, — so
he pokes his fun at me, and we're as jolly as sandboys.
But St. Stumfolda is made of sterner metal, and will not
put up with any such female levity. If she pokes her
fun at any sinners, it is at gentlemen sinners ; and grim
work it must be for them, I should think. Poor Mary
Baker ! — the best creature in the world. I'm afraid she
has a bad time of it. But then, you know, perhaps that
is the sort of thing you like."

" You see I know so very little of Mrs. Stumfold,"
eaid Miss Mackenzie.

" That's a misfortune will soon be cured if you let her
have her own way. You ask Mary Baker else. But I
don't mean to be saying anything bad behind anybody's
back ; I don't indeed. I have no doubt these people are
very good in their way; only their ways are not my
ways ; and one doesn't like to be told so often that one's
own way is broad, and that it leads — you know where.
Come, Patty, let us be going. When you've made up
your mind, Miss Mackenzie, just you tell me. If you
say, 'Miss Todd, I think you're too wicked for me,' I
shall understand it. I shan't be in the least offended.
But if my way isn't — isn't too broad, you know, I shall
be very happy to see you."

Hereupon Miss Mackenzie plucked up courage and
asked a question.

"Do you ever go to the assembly rooms, Miss
Todd ? "

Miss Todd almost whistled before she gave her answer.
" Why, Miss Mackenzie, that's where they dance and play
cards, and where the girls flirt and the young men make
fools of themselves. I don't go there very often myself, be-
cause I don't care about flirting, and I'm too old for dancing.
As for cards, I get plenty of them at home. I think I did
put down my name and paid something when I first came
here, but that's ever so many years ago. I don't go to the
assembly rooms now."

As soon as Miss Todd was gone, Miss Mackenzie went to
work to reflect seriously upon all she had just heard. Of
course, there could be no longer any question of her going

MISS MACKENZIE'S FIRST ACQUAINTANCES. 33

to the assembly rooms. Even Miss Todd, wicked as she was,
did not go there. But should she, or should she not, return
Miss Todd's visit ? If she did she would be thereby com-
mitting herself to what Miss Todd had profanely called the
broad way. In such case any advance in the Stumfold
direction would be forbidden k) her. But if she did not call
on Miss Todd, then she would have plainly declared that she
intended to be such another disciple as Miss Baker, and
from that decision there would be no recall. On this subject
she must make up her mind, and in doing so she laboured
with all her power. As to any charge of incivility which
might attach to her for not returning the visit of a lady who
had been so civil to her, of that she thought nothing. Miss
Todd had herself declared that she would not be in the least
offended. But she liked this new acquaintance. In owning
all the truth about Miss Mackenzie, I must confess that her
mind hankered after the things of this world. She thought
that if she could only establish herself as Miss Todd was
established, she would care nothing for the Stumfolds, male
or female. But how was she to do this ? An establishment
in the Stumfold direction might be easier.

In the course of the next week two affairs of moment
occurred to Miss Mackenzie. On the Wednesday morning
she received from London a letter of business which caused
her considerable anxiety, and on the Thursday afternoon &
note was brought to her from Mrs. Stumfold, — or rather an
envelope containing a card on which was printed an invita-
tion to drink tea with that lady on that day week. Thic
invitation she accepted without much doubt. She would go
and see Mrs. Stumfold in her house, and would then bo
better able to decide whether the mode of life practised by
the Stumfold party would be to her taste. So she wrote a
reply, and sent it by her maid-servant, greatly doubting
whether she was not wrong in writing her answer on com-
mon note-paper, and whether she also should not have
supplied herself with some form or card for the occasion.

The letter of business was from her brother Tom, and
contained an application for the loan of some money, — for
the loan, indeed, of a good deal of money. But the loan
was to be made not to him but to the firm of Rubb and
Mackenzie, and was not to be a simple lending of money
3

34 MISS MACKENZIE.

on the faith of that firm, for purposes of speculation or
ordinary business. It was to be expended in the pur-
chase of the premises in the New Road, and Miss Mac-
kenzie was to have a mortgage on them, and was to
receive five per cent, for the money which she should
advance. The letter was long, and though it was mani-
fest even to Miss Mackenzie that he had written the first
page with much hesitation, he had waxed strong as he
had gone on, and had really made out a good case.
" You are to understand," he said, " that this is, of
course, to be done through your own lawyer, who will
not allow you to make the loan unless he is satisfied
with the security. Our landlords are compelled to sell
the premises, and unless we purchase them ourselves, we
shall in all probability be turned out, as we have only a
year or two more under our present lease. You could pur-
chase the whole thing yourself, but ir> that case you would
not be sure of the same interest for your money." He then
went on to say that Samuel Rubb, junior, the son of old
Rubb, should run down to Littlebath in the course of next
week, in order that the whole thing might be made clear to
her. Samuel Rubb was not the partner whose name was
included in the designation of the firm, but was a young
man, — " a comparatively young man," — as her brother ex-
plained, who had lately been admitted to a share in the
business.

This letter put Miss Mackenzie into a twitter. Like all
other single ladies, she was very nervous about her money.
She was quite alive to the beauty of a high rate of interest,
but did not quite understand that high interest and impaired
security should go hand in hand together. She wished to
oblige her brother, and was aware that she had money as to
which her lawyers were looking out for an investment. Even
this had made her unhappy, as she was not quite sure
whether her lawyers would not spend the money. She knew
that lone women were terribly robbed sometimes, and had
almost resolved upon insisting that the money should be put
into the Three per Cents. But she had gone to work with
figures, and having ascertained that by doing so twenty-five
pounds a year would be docked off from her computed in-
come, she had given no such order. She now again went to

Miss MACKENZIE'S FIRST ACQUAINTANCES. J5

work with her figures, and found that if the loan were
accomplished ifc would add twenty-five pounds a year to her
computed income. Mortgages, she knew, were good things,
strong and firm, based upon landed security, and very re-
spectable. So she wrote to her lawyers, saying that she
would be glad to oblige her brother if there were nothing
amiss. Her lawyers wrote back, advising her to refer Mr.
Rubb, junior, to them. On the day named in her
brother's letter, Mr. Samuel Rubb, junior, arrived at
Littlebath, and called upon Miss Machenzie in the
Paragon.

Miss Mackenzie had been brought up with contempt and
almost with hatred for the Rubb family. It had, in the first
instance, been the work of old Samuel Rubb to tempt her
brother Tom into trade ; and he had tempted Tom into a
trade that had not been fat and prosperous, and therefore
pardonable, but into a trade that had been troublesome and
poor. Walter Mackenzie had always spoken of these Rubbs
with thorough disgust, and had persistently refused to hcid
any intercourse with them. When, therefore, Mr. Samuel
Rubb was announced, our heroine was somewhat inclined to
seat herself upon a high horse.

Mr. Samuel Rubb, junior, came up stairs, and was by no
means the sort of person in appearance that Miss Mackenzie
had expected to see. In the first place, he was, as well as
she could guess, about forty years of age ; whereas she had
expected to see a young man. A man who went about the
world especially designated as junior, ought, she thought, to
be very young. And then Mr. Rubb carried with him an
air of dignity, and had about his external presence a some-
thing of authority which made her at once seat herself a peg
lower than she had intended. He was a good-looking man,
nearly six feet high, with great hands and feet, but with a
great forehead also, which atoned for his hands and feet.
He was dressed throughout in black, as tradesmen always
are in these days ; but, as Miss Mackenzie said to herself,
there was certainly no knowing that he belonged to the oil-
cloth business from the cut of his coat or the set of his
trousers.

He began his task with great care, and seemed to have
none of the hesitation which had afflicted her brother iu
3—2

ijfc MISS MACKENZIE.

writing his letter. The investment, he said, would, no doubt,
be a good one. Two thousand four hundred pounds was the
Bum wanted, and he understood that she had that amount
lying idle. Their lawyer had already seen her lawyer, and
there could be no doubt as to the soundness of the mortgage.
An assurance company with whom the firm had dealings
was quite ready to advance the money on the proposed secu-
rity, and at the proposed rate of interest, but in such a
matter as that, Rubb and Mackenzie did not wish to
deal with an assurance company. They desired that
all control over the premises should either be in their
own hands, or in the hands of some one connected with
them.

By the time that Mr. Samuel Rubb had done, Miss Mac-
kenzie found herself to have dismounted altogether from her
horse, and to be pervaded by some slight fear that her
lawyers might allow so favourable an opportunity
for investing her money to slip through their
hands.

Then, on a sudden, Mr. Rubb dropped the subject of the
loan, and Miss Mackenzie, as he did so, felt herself to be
almost disappointed. And when she found him talking
easily to her about matters of external life, although she
answered him readily, and talked to him also easily, she
entertained some feeling that she ought to be offended. Mr.
Rubb, junior, was a tradesman who had come to her on
business, and having done his business, why did he not go
away ? Nevertheless, Miss Mackenzie answered him when
he asked questions, and allowed herself to be seduced into a
conversation.

" Yes, upon my honour," he said, looking out of the window
into the Montpelier Gardens, " a very nice situation indeed.
How much better they do these things in such a place
as this than we do up in London ! What dingy
houses we live in, and how bright they make the places
here ! "

" They are not crowded so much, I suppose," said Miss
Mackenzie.

" It isn't only that. The truth is, that in London no-
body cares what his house looks like. The whole thinq- is
so ugly that anything not ugly would be out of place,

MISS MACKENZIE'S FIEST ACQUAINTANCES. 87

Now, in Paris . You have been in Paris, Miss Mac-
kenzie ? "

In answer to this, Miss Mackenzie was compelled to own
that she had never been in Paris.

" Ah, you should go to Paris, Miss Mackenzie ; yoa
should, indeed. Now, you're a lady that have nothing to
prevent your going anywhere. If I were you, I'd go almost
everywhere ; but above all, I'd go to Paris. There's no
place like Paris."

" I suppose not," said Miss Mackenzie.

By this time Mr. Rubb had returned from the window,
and had seated himself in the easy chair in the middle of the
room. In doing so he thrust out both his legs, folded
his hands one over the other, and looked very comfort-
able.

"Now I'm a slave to business," he said. "That horrid
place in the New Road, which we want to buy with your
money, has made a prisoner of me for the last twenty yea*s.
I went into it as the boy who was to do the copying, when
your brother first became a partner. Oh dear, how I did
hate it ! "

" Did you now ? "

" I should rather think I did. I had been brought up at
the Merchant Taylors', and they intended to send me to
Oxford. That was five years before they began the business
in the New Road. Then came the crash which our house
had at Manchester ; and when we had picked up the pieces,
we found that we had to give up university ideas. However,
I'll make a business of it before I'm done ; you see if I don't,
Miss Mackenzie. Your brother has been with us so many
years that I have quite a pleasure in talking to you about
it."

Miss Mackenzie was not quite sure that she reciprocated
the pleasure ; for, after all, though he did look so much
better than she had expected, he was only Rubb, junior, from
Rubb and Mackenzie's ; and any permanent acquaintance
with Mr. Rubb would not suit the line of life in which she
was desirous of moving. But she did not in the least know
how to stop him, or how to show him that she had intended
to receive him simply as a man of business. And then it
was so seldom that any one came to talk to her, that she was

88 MISS MACKENZIE.

tempted to fall away from her high resolves. " I have not
known much of my brother's concerns," she said, attempting
to be cautious.

Then he sat for another hour, making himself very agree-
able, and at the end of that time she offered him a glass of
wine and a biscuit, which he accepted. He was going to re-
main two or three days in the neighbourhood, he said, and
might he call again before he left ? Miss Mackenzie told
him that he might. How was it possible that she should
answer such a question in any other way ? Then he got up,
and shook hands with her, told her that he was so glad he
had come to Littlebath, and was quite cordial and friendly.
Miss Mackenzie actually found herself laughing with him as
they stood on the floor together, and though she knew that
it was improper, she liked it. "When he was gone she could
not remember what it was that had made her laugh, but
she remembered that she had laughed. For a long time
past very little laughter had come to her share.

When he was gone she prepared herself to think about
him at length. Why had he talked to her in that way ?
Why was he going to call again ? Why was Rubb, junior,
from Rubb and Mackenzie's, such a pleasant fellow ?
After all, he retailed oilcloth at so much a yard ; and
little as she knew of the world, she knew that she, with
ever so much good blood in her veins, and with ever so
many hundreds a year of her own, was entitled to look
for acquaintances of a higher ofder than that. She, if
}he were entitled to make any boast about herself, — and
sfee was by no means inclined to such boastings, — might
at lany rate boast that she was a lady. Now, Mr. Rubb
wasNnot a gentleman. He was not a gentleman by posi-
tion;'. She knew that well enough, and she thought that
she had also discovered that he was not quite a gentle-
man in his manners and mode of speech. Nevertheless
she had liked him, and had laughed with him, and the
remembrance of this made her sad.

That same evening she wrote a letter to her lawyer,
telling him that she was very anxious to oblige her
brother, if the security was good. And then she went
into the matter at length, repeating much of what Mr.
Rubb had said to her, as to the excellence of mortgages

MISS MACKENZIE'S FIRST ACQUAINTANCES. 39

in general, and of this mortgage in particular. After that
she dressed herself with great care, and went out to tea at
Mrs. Stumfold's. This was the first occasion in her life
in which she had gone to a party, the invitation to
which had come to her on a card, and of course she felt
herself to be a little nervous.

40 MISS MACKENZIE.

CHAPTER IV.

MISS MACKENZIE COMMENCES HER CAREER.

Miss MACKENZIE had been three weeks at Littlebath when
the day arrived on which she was to go to Mrs. Stumfold's
party, and up to that time she had not enjoyed much of the
society of that very social place. Indeed, in these pages
have been described with accuracy all the advancement
which she had made in that direction. She had indeed re-
turned Miss Todd's call, but had not found that lady at
home. In doing this she had almost felt herself to be guilty
of treason against the new allegiance which she seemed
to have taken upon herself in accepting Mrs. Stumfold's
invitation ; and she had done it at last not from any firm
resolve of which she might have been proud, but had
been driven to it by ennui, and by the easy temptation
of Miss Todd's neighbouring door. She had, therefore,
slipped out, and finding her wicked friend to be not at
home, had hurried back again. She had, however, com-
mitted herself to a card, and she knew that Mrs. Stum-
fold would hear of it through Miss Baker. Miss Baker's
visit she had not returned, being in doubt where Miss
Baker lived, being terribly in doubt also whether the Median
rules of fashion demanded of her that she should return the
call of a lady who had simply come to her with another
caller. Her hesitation on this subject had been much, and
her vacillations many, but she had thought it safer to ab-
stain. For the last day or two she had been expecting the
return of Mr. Bubb, junior, — keeping herself a prisoner, I
during the best hours of the day, so that she might be

MISS MACKENZIE COMMENCES HER CAREER. 41

there to receive him when he did come ; bat though she had
BO acted, she had quite resolved to be very cold with him,
and very cautious, and had been desirous of seeing him solely
with a view to the mercantile necessities of her position. It
behoved her certainly to attend to business when business
came in her way, and therefore she would take care to be at
home when Mr. Rubb should call.

She had been to church twice a day on each of the Sun-
days that she had passed in Littlebath, having in this matter
strictly obeyed the hints which Mr. Stumfold had given for
her guidance. No doubt she had received benefit from the
discourses which she had heard from that gentleman each
morning ; and, let us hope, benefit also from the much longer
discourses which she had heard from Mr. Stumfold's curate
on each evening. The Rev. Mr. Maguire was very powerful,
but he was also very long ; and Miss Mackenzie, who was
hardly as yet entitled to rank herself among the thoroughly
converted, was inclined to think that he was too long. She
was, however, patient by nature, and willing to bear much, i{
only some little might come to her in return. What of social
comfort she had expected to obtain from her churchgoings
I cannot quite define ; but I think that she had unconsciously
expected something from them in that direction, and that
she had been disappointed.

But now, at nine o'clock on this appointed evening, she
was of a certainty and in very truth going into society. The
card said half-past eight; but the Sun had not yoked
his horses so far away from her Tyre, remote as that Tyre
had been, as to have left her in ignorance that half-past
eight meant nine. When her watch showed her that half-
past eight had really come, she was fidgety, and rang the
bell to inquire whether the man might have probably for-
gotten to send the fly ; and yet she had been very careful to
tell the man that she did not wish to be at Mrs. Stumfold's
before nine.

"He understands, Miss," said the servant; "don't you be
afeard ; he's a-doing of it every night."

Then she became painfully conscious that even the maid-
servant knew more of the social ways of the place than did
she.

When she reached the top of Mrs. Stumfold's stairs, her

42 MISS MACKENZIE.

heart was in ker mouth, for she perceived immediately that
she had kept people waiting. After all, she had trusted to
false intelligence in that matter of the hour. Half-past eight
had meant half-past eight, and she ought to have known
that this would be so in a house so upright as that of Mrs.
Stumfold. That lady met her at the door, and smiling, —
blandly, but, perhaps I might be permitted to say, not so
blandly as she might have smiled, — conducted the stranger
to a seat.

" We generally open with a little prayer, and for that
purpose our dear friends are kind enough to come to us
punctually."

Then Mr. Stumfold got up, and pressed her hand very
kindly.

" I'm so sorry," Miss Mackenzie had uttered.

" Not in the least," he replied. " I knew you couldn't
know, and therefore we ventured to wait a few minutes. The
time hasn't been lost, as Mr. Maguire has treated us to a
theological argument of great weight."

Then all the company laughed, and Miss Mackenzie per-
ceived that Mr. Stumfold could joke in his way. She was
introduced to Mr. Maguire, who also pressed her hand ; and
then Miss Baker came and sat by her side. There was,
however, at that moment no time for conversation. The
prayer was begun immediately, Mr. Stumfold taking this
duty himself. Then Mr. Maguire read half a chapter in the
Bible, and after that Mr. Stumfold explained it. Two ladies
asked Mr. Stumfold questions with great pertinacity, and
these questions Mr. Stumfold answered very freely, walking
about the room the while, and laughing often as he submit-
ted himself to their interrogations. And Miss Mackenzie
was much astonished at the special freedom of his manner
— how he spoke of St. Paul as Paul, declaring the saint to
have been a good fellow ; how he said he liked Luke better
than Matthew, and how he named even a holier name than
these with infinite ease and an accustomed familiarity which
seemed to delight the other ladies ; but which at first
shocked her in her ignorance.

" But I'm not going to have anything more to say to
Peter and Paul at present," he declared at last. " You'd
keep me here all night, and the tea will be spoilt,"

MISS MACKENZIE COMMENCES HER CAREER. 43

Then they all laughed again at the absurd idea of this
great and good man preferring his food, — his food of this
world., — to that other food which it was his special business
to dispense. There is nothing which the Stutnfoldian ladies
of Littlebath liked so much as these little jokes which
bordered on the profanity of the outer world, which made
them feel themselves to be almost as funny as the sinners,
and gave them a slight taste, as it were, of the pleasures of
iniquity.

"Wine maketh glad the heart of woman, Mrs. Jones,"
Mr. Stumfold would say as he filled for the second time the
glass of some old lady of his set ; and the old lady would
chirrup and wink, and feel that things were going almost as
jollily with her as they did with that wicked Mrs. Smith,
who spent every night of her life playing cards, or as they
had done with that horrid Mrs. Brown, of whom such
terrible things were occasionally whispered when two or
three ladies found themselves sufficiently private to whisper
them ; that things were going almost as pleasantly here
in this world, although accompanied by so much safety
as to the future in her own case, and so much danger
in those other cases! I think it was this aptitude
for feminine rakishness which, more than any of his great
virtues, more even than his indomitable industry, made
Mr. Stumfold the most popular man in Littlebath. A
dozen ladies on the present occasion skipped away to
the tea-table in the back drawing-room with a delighted
alacrity, which was all owing to the unceremonious treat-
ment which St. Peter and St. Paul had received from their
pastor.

Miss Mackenzie had just found time to cast an eye round
the room and examine the scene of Mr. Stumfold's pleasant-
ries while Mr. Maguire was reading. She saw that there
were only three gentlemen there besides the two clergy-
men. There was a very old man who sat close wedged
in between Mrs. Stumfold and another lady, by whoso
joint dresses he was almost obliterated. This was Mr.
Peters, a retired attorney. He was Mrs. Stumfold's father,
and from his coffers had come the superfluities of com-
fort which Miss Mackenzie saw around her. Rumour,
even among the saintly people of Littlebath, said that Mr.

44 MISS MACKENZIE.

Peters had been a sharp practitioner in his early days ; —
that he had been successful in his labours was admitted by
all.

"No doubt he has repented," Miss Baker said one day to
Miss Todd.

"And if he has not, he has forgotten all about it,
which generally means the same thing," Miss Todd had
answered.

Mr. Peters was now very old, and I am disposed to think
he had forgotten all about it.

The other two gentlemen were both young, and they stood
very high in the graces of all the company there assemble
They were high in the graces of Mr. Stumfold, but highei
still in the graces of Mrs. Stumfold, and were almost
worshipped by one or two other ladies whose powers of
external adoration were .aot diminished by the possession
of husbands. They were, both of them, young men who
had settled themselves for a time at Littlebath that they
might be near Mr. Stumfold, and had sufficient of worldly
wealth to enable them to pass their time in semi-clerical
pursuits.

Mr. Frigidy, the elder, intended at some time to go into
the Church, but had not as yet made sufficient progress
in his studies to justify him in hoping that he could pass a
bishop's examination. His friends told him of Islington
and St. Bees, of Durham, Birkenhead, and other places
where the thing could be done for him ; but he hesi-
tated, fearing whether he might be able to pass even the
initionary gates of Islington. He was a good young man,
at peace with all the world, — except Mr. Startup. With
Mr. Startup the veracious chronicler does not dare to assert
that Mr. Frigidy was at peace. Now Mr. Startup was
the other young man whom Miss Mackenzie saw in that
room.

Mr. Startup was also a very good young man, but he was
of a fiery calibre, whereas Frigidy was naturally mild.
Startup was already an open-air preacher, whereas Frigidy
lacked nerve to speak a word above his breath. Startup
was not a clergyman because certain scruples impeded and
prevented him, while in the bosom of Frigidy there existed
no desire so strong as that of having the word reverend

MISS MACKENZIE COMMENCES HER CAREER. 45

attached to his name. Startup, though he was younger
than Frigidy, could talk to seven ladies at once with ease,
but Frigidy could not talk to one without much assistance
from that lady herself. The consequence of this was that
Mr. Frigidy could not bring himself to love Mr. Startup, —
could not enable himself to justify a veracious chronicler in
saying that he was at peace with all the world, Startup
included.

The ladies were too many for Miss Mackenzie to notice
them specially as she sat listening to Mr. Maguire's im-
pressive voice. Mr. Maguire she did notice, and found him
to be the possessor of a good figure, of a fine head of jet
black hair, of a perfect set of white teeth, of whiskers which
were also black and very fine, but streaked here and there
with a grey hair, — and of the most terrible squint in his
right eye which ever disfigured a face that in all other
respects was fitted for an Apollo. So egregious was the
squint that Miss Mackenzie could not keep herself from re-
garding it, even while Mr. Stumfold was expounding. Had
she looked Mr. Maguire full in the face at the beginning,
I do not think it would so much have mattered to her ;
but she had seen first the back of his head, and then
his profile, and had unfortunately formed a strong opinion
as to his almost perfect beauty. When, therefore, the
defective eye was disclosed to her, her feelings were
moved in a more than ordinary manner. How was it
that a man graced with such a head, with such a mouth
and chin and forehead, nay, with such a left eye, could be
cursed with such a right eye ! She was still thinking of
this when the frisky movement into the tea-room took
place around her.

When at this moment Mr. Stumfold offered her his arm to
conduct her through the folding doors, this condescension on
his part almost confounded her. The other ladies knew
that he always did so to a new comer, and therefore thought
less of it. No other gentleman took any other lady, but
she was led up to a special seat, — a seat of honour as it
were, at the left hand side of a huge silver kettle. Im-
mediately before the kettle sat Mrs. Stumfold. Immediately
before another kettle, at another table, sat Miss Peters, a
sister of Mrs. Stumfold's. The back drawing-room in

46 MISS MACKENZIE.

which they were congregated was larger than the other,
and opened behind into a pretty garden. Mr. Stumfold's
lines in falling thus among the Peters, had fallen to
him in pleasant places. On the other side of Miss Mac-
kenzie sat Miss Baker, and on the other side of Mrs.
Stumfold stood Mr. Startup, talking aloud and administer-
ing the full tea-cups with a conscious grace. Mr. Stum-
fold and Mr. Frigidy were at the other table, and Mr.
Maguire was occupied in passing promiscuously from one
to the other. Miss Mackenzie wished with all her heart
that he would seat himself somewhere with his face turned
away from her, for she found it impossible to avert
her eyes from his eye. But he was always there, be-
fore her sight, and she began to feel that he was an evil
spirit, — her evil spirit, and that he would be too many for
her.

Before anybody else was allowed to begin, Mrs. Stumfold
rose from her chair with a large and completely filled bowl
of tea, with a plate also laden with buttered toast, and with
her own hands and on her own legs carried these delicacies
round to her papa. On such an occasion as this no servant,
no friend, no Mr. Startup, was allowed to interfere with her
filial piety.

" She does it always," said an admiring lady in an audible
whisper from the other side of Miss Baker. " She does it
always."

The admiring lady was the wife of a retired coachbuilder,
who was painfully anxious to make her way into good
evangelical society at Littlebath.

" Perhaps you will put in the sugar for yourself," said
Mrs. Stumfold to Miss Mackenzie as soon as she returned.
On this occasion Miss Mackenzie received her cup the first
after the father of the house, but the words spoken to her
were stern to the ear.

" Perhaps you will put in the sugar yourself. It lightens
the labour."

Miss Mackenzie expressed her willingness to do so, and
regretted that Mrs. Stnmfold should have to work so hard.
Could she be of assistance ?

"I'm quite used to it, thank you," said Mrs. Stum-
fold.

MISS MACKENZIE COMMENCES HER CAREER,' 47

HFhe words were not uncivil, but the tone was dreadfully
severe, and Miss Mackenzie felt painfully sure that her
hosftess was already aware of the card that had been left
at 1 iliss Todd's door.

Mr. Startup was now actively at work.
' Lady Griggs's and Miss Fleebody's ; — I know. A great
dea 1 of sugar for her ladyship, and Miss Fleebody eats
mu ffin. Mrs. Blow always takes pound-cake, and I'll see
thalt there's one near her. Mortimer " — Mortimer was the
foo man — "is getting more bread and butter. Maguire, you
hawe two dishes of sweet biscuits over there ; give us one
hei e. Never mind me, Mrs. Stumfold ; I'll have my innings
presently."

JA11 this Mr. Frigidy heard with envious ears as he sat
wiph his own tea-cup before him at the other table.
H'jp would have given the world to have been walking
abiout the room like Startup, making himself useful and
conspicuous ; but he couldn't do it ; — he knew that he
cojuldn't do it. Later in the evening, when he had been
setting by Miss Trotter for two hours, — and he had very
often sat by Miss Trotter before, — he ventured upon a
remark.

I " Don't you think that Mr. Startup makes himself a
li-ttle forward ? "

' " Oh dear, yes, very," said Miss Trotter. " I believe
h^e's an excellent young man, but I always did think him
forward, now you mention it. And sometimes I've wondered
'Jiow dear Mrs. Stumfold could like so much of it. But do
/you know, Mr. Frigidy, I am not quite sure that somebody
jelse does like it. You know who I mean."

Miss Trotter said much more than this, and Mr. Frigidy
was comforted, and believed that he had been talking.

When Mrs. Stumfold commenced her conversation with
Mr. Startup, Miss Baker addressed herself to Miss Mac-
kenzie ; but there was at first something of stiffness in her
manner, — as became a lady whose call had not been re*
turned.

" I hope you like Littlebath," said Miss Baker.
Miss Mackenzie, who began to be conscious that she
had done wrong, hesitated as she replied that she liked
it pretty well.

48 MISS MACKENZIE.

" I think you'll find it pleasant," said Miss Baker ; and
then there was a pause. There could not be two wcnen
more fitted for friendship than were these, and it was ruch
to be hoped, for the sake of our poor, solitary heoine
especially, that this outside crust of manner might be brken
up and dispersed.

"I dare say I shall find it pleasant, after a time," said
Miss Mackenzie. Then they applied themselves each toher
own bread and butter.

" You have not seen Miss Todd, I suppose, since I aw
you ? " Miss Baker asked this question when she percered
that Mrs. Stumfold was deep in some secret conference vith
Mr. Startup. It must, however, be told to Miss Bafcr's
credit, that she had persistently maintained her friendihip
with Miss Todd, in spite of all the Stumfoldian influences.
Miss Mackenzie, at the moment less brave, looked romd
aghast, but seeing that her hostess was in deep confereice
with her prime minister, she took heart of grace. " I caled,
and I did not see her."

" She promised me she would call," said Miss Baker.

" And I returned her visit, but she wasn't at home," sad
Miss Mackenzie.

" Indeed," said Miss Baker ; and then there was silerce
between them again.

But, after a pause, Miss Mackenzie again took heart of
grace. I do not think that there was, of nature, much of
the coward about her. Indeed, the very fact that she WM
there alone at Littlebath, fighting her own battle with ths
world, instead of having allowed herself to be swallowed uj.
by the Harry Handcocks, and Tom Mackenzies, proved her
to be anything but a coward. " Perhaps, Miss Baker, I
ought to have returned your visit," said she.

" That was just as you like," said Miss Baker with her
sweetest smile.

"Of course, I should have liked it, as I thought it so good
of you to come. But as you came with Mrs. Stumfold, I
was not quite sure whether it might be intended ; and
then I didn't know, — did not exactly know, — where you
lived."

After this the two ladies got on very comfortably, so long
as they were left sitting sitting side by side. Miss Baker

MISS MACKENZIE COMMENCES HER CAREER, 49

imparted to Miss Mackenzie her full address, and Miss
Mackenzie, with that brightness in her eyes which they
always assumed when she was eager, begged her new friend
to come to her again.

" Indeed, I will," said Miss BaKer. After that they were
parted by a general return to the front room.

And now Miss Mackenzie found herself seated next to Mr.
Maguire. She had been carried away in the crowd to a
further corner, in which there were two chairs, and before
she had been able to consider the merits or demerits of the
position, Mr. Maguire was seated close beside her. He was
seated close beside her in such a way as to make the tw(f
specially separated from all the world beyond, for in front
of them stood a wall of crinoline, — a wall of crinoline
divided between four or five owners, among whom was
shared the eloquence of Mr. Startup, who was carrying on
an evangelical flirtation with the whole of them in a manner
that was greatly pleasing to them, and enthusiastically de-
lightful to him. Miss Mackenzie, when she found herself
thus entrapped, looked into Mr. Maguire's eye with dismay.
Had that look been sure to bring down upon her the hatred
of that reverend gentleman, she could not have helped it.
The eye fascinated her, as much as it frightened her. But
Mr. Maguire was used to have his eye inspected, and did not
hate her. He fixed it apparently on the corners of the wall,
but in truth upon her, and then he began :

" I am so glad that you have come among us, Miss
Mackenzie."

" I'm sure that I'm very much obliged."

"Well; you ought to be. You must not be surprised
at my saying so, though it sounds 'uncivil. You ought
to feel obliged, and the obligation should be mutual.
I am not sure, that when all things are considered, you
could find yourself in any better place in England, than
in the drawing-room of my friend Stumfold; and, if you
will allow me to say so, my friend Stumfold could hardly
use his drawing-room better, than by entertaining you."

" Mr. Stumfold is very good, and so is she."

" Mr. Stumfold is very good ; and as for Mrs. Stumfold,
I look upon her as a very wonderful woman — quite a
wonderful woman. For grasp of intellect, for depth of
4

50 MISS MACKEffZIB.

thought, for tenderness of sentiment, — perhaps you mightn't
have expected that, but there it is, — for tenderness of senti-
ment, for strength of faith, for purity of life, for genial
hospitality, and all the domestic duties, Mrs. Stumfold has
no equal in Littlebath, and perhaps few superiors else-
where."

Here Mr. Maguire paused, and Miss Mackenzie, findin
herself obliged to speak, said that she did not at all doub
it.

" You need not doubt it, Miss Mackenzie. She is all that,
I tell you ; and more, too. Her manners may seem a little
harsh to you at first. I know it is so sometimes with ladies
before they know her well ; but it is only skin-deep, Miss
Mackenzie, — only skin-deep. She is so much in earnest
about her work, that she cannot bring herself to be light
and playful as he is. Now, he is as full of play as a young
lamb."

" He seems to be very pleasant."

" And he is always just the same. There are people, you
know, who say that religion is austere and melancholy.
They never could say that if they knew my friend Stumfold.
His life is devoted to his clerical duties. I know no man
who works harder in the vineyard than Stumfold. But he
always works with a smile on his face. And why not, Miss
Mackenzie ? — when you think of it, why not ? "

" I dare say it's best not to be unhappy," said Miss
Mackenzie. She did not speak till she perceived that he
had paused for her answer.

" Of course we know that this world can make no one
happy. What are we that we should dare to be happy
here ? "

Again he paused, but Miss Mackenzie feeling that she had
been ill-treated and trapped into a difficulty at her last
reply, resolutely remained silent.

"I defy any man or woman to be happy here," said Mr.
Maguire, looking at her with one eye and at the corner of
the wall with the other in a manner that was very terrible
to her. " But we may be cheerful ; — we may go about our
work singing psalms of praise instead of songs of sorrow.
Don't you agree with me, Miss Mackenzie, that psalms of
praise are better than songs of sorrow ? "

MISS MACKENZIE COMMENCES HER CAREER. 51

" I don't sing at all, myself," said Miss Mackenzie.

u You sing in your heart, my friend ; I am sure you sing
in your heart. Don't you sing in your heart? " Here again
he paused.

" Well ; perhaps in my heart, yes."

"I know you do, loud psalms of praise upon a ten-
stringed lute. But Stumfold is always singing aloud, and
his lute has twenty strings." Here the voice of the twenty*,
stringed singer was heard across the large room asking the
company a riddle.

" Why was Peter in prison like a little boy with his
shoes off? "

" That's so like him," said Mr. Maguire.

All the ladies in the room were in a fever of expectation^
and Mr. Stumfold asked the riddle again.

" He won't tell them till we meet again ; but there isn't
one here who won't study the life of St. Peter during the
next week. And what they'll learn in that way they'll never
forget."

"But why was he like a little boy with his shoes off? "
asked Miss Mackenzie.

" Ah !— that's Stumfold's riddle. Yon must ask Mr.
Stumfold, and he won't tell you till next week. But some
of the ladies will be sure to find it out before then. Have
you come to settle yourself altogether at Littlebath, Miss
Mackenzie? "

This question he asked very abruptly, but he had a way
of looking at her when he asked a question, which made it
impossible for her to avoid an answer.

"I suppose I shall stay here for some considerable
time."

" Do, do," said he with energy. " Do ; come and live
among us, and be one of us ; come and partake with us at
the feast which we are making ready ; come and eat of our
crusts, and dip with us in the same dish ; come and be of
our flock, and go with us into the pleasant pastures, among-
the lanes and green hedges which appertain to the farm of
the Lord. Come and walk with us through the Sabbath
corn-fields, and pluck the ears when you are a-hungered, dis-
regarding the broad philacteries. Come and sing with us
songs of a joyful heart, and let us be glad together. What
4—2

52 MISS MACKENZIE.

better can you do, Miss Mackenzie ? I don't believe there
is a more healthy place in the world than Littlebath, and,
considering that the place is fashionable, things are really
very reasonable.

He was rapid in his utterance, and so full of energy, that
Miss Mackenzie did not quite follow him in his quick tran-
sitions. She hardly understood whether he was advising
her to take up an abode in a terrestial Eden or a celestial
Paradise ; but she presumed that he meant to be civil, so
she thanked him and said she thought she would. It was a
thousand pities that he should squint so frightfully, as in
nil other respects he was a good-looking man. Just at this
moment there seemed to be a sudden breaking up of the
party.

" We are all going away," said Mr. Maguire. " We
always do when Mrs. Stumfold gets up from her seat. She
does it when she sees that her father is nodding his head.
You must let me out, because I've got to say a prayer. By.,
the-bye, you'll allow me to walk home with you, I hope. I
shall be so happy to be useful."

Miss Mackenzie told him that the fly was coming for
her, and then he scrambled away into the middle of the
room.

" We always walk home from these parties," said Miss
Baker, who had, however, on this occasion, consented to be
taken away by Miss Mackenzie in the fly. " It makes it
come so much cheaper, you know."

" Of course it does ; and it's quite as nice if everybody
does it. But you don't walk going there? "

"Not generally," said Miss Baker ; "but there are some
of them who do that. Miss Trotter always walks both
ways, if it's ever so wet." Then there were a few words
said about Miss Trotter which were not altogether good-
natured.

Miss Mackenzie, as soon as she was at home, got down
her Bible and puzzled herself for an hour over that riddle
of Mr. Stumfold's ; but with all her trouble she could not
find why St. Peter in prison was like a little boy with hia
shoes off.

EUBB. JUNIOR. 53

CHAPTER V.

31 OWING HOW MR. RUBB, JUNIOR, PROGRESSED AT
LITTLE BATH.

A FULL week had passed by after Mrs. Stumfold's tea-
party before Mr. Rubb called again at the Paragon ; and in
the mean time Miss Mackenzie had been informed by her
lawyer that there did not appear to be any objection to the
mortgage, if she liked the investment for her money.

" You couldn't do better with your money — you couldn't
indeed," said Mr. Rubb, when Miss Mackenzie, meaning to
be cautious, started the conversation at once upon matters
of business.

Mr. Rubb had not been in any great hurry to repeat his
call, and Miss Mackenzie had resolved that if he did como
again she would treat him simply as a member of the firm
with whom she had to transact certain monetary arrange-
ments. Beyond that she would not go ; and as she so re-
solved, she repented herself of the sherry and biscuit.

The people whom she had met at Mr. Stumfold's had been
all ladies and gentlemen ; she, at least, had supposed them
to be so, not having as yet received any special information
respecting the wife of the retired coachbuilder. Mr. Rubb
was not a gentleman ; and though she was by no means
inclined to give herself airs, — though, as she assured her-
self, she believed Mr. Rubb to be quite as good as herself, —
yet there was, and must always be, a difference among
people. She had no inclination to be proud ; but if Provi-
dence had been pleased to place her in one position, it did
not behove her to degrade herself by assuming a position
that was lower. Therefore, on this account, and by no

54 MISS MACKENZIE.

means moved by any personal contempt towards Mr. Rubb,
or the Rubbs of the world in general, she was resolved
that she would not ask him to take any more sherry and
biscuits.

Poor Miss Mackenzie ! I fear that they who read this
chronicle of her life will already have allowed themselves
to think worse of her than she deserved. Many of them, I
know, will think far worse of her than they should think.
Of what faults, even if we analyse her faults, has she been
guilty ? Where she has been weak, who among us is not,
in that, weak also ? Of what vanity has she been guilty
with which the least vain among us might not justly tax
himself? Having been left alone in the world, she has
looked to make friends for herself; and in seeking for new
friends she has wished to find the best that might come in
her way.

Mr. Rubb was very good-looking ; Mr. Maguire was
afflicted by a terrible squint. Mr. Rubb's mode of speaking
was pleasant to her ; whereas she was by no means sure
that she liked Mr. Maguire's speech. But Mr. Maguire
was by profession a gentleman. As the discreet young man,
who is desirous of rising in the world, will eschew skittles,
and in preference go out to tea at his aunt's house, — much
more delectable as skittles are to his own heart, — so did Miss
Mackenzie resolve that it would become her to select Messrs.
Stumfold and Maguire as her male friends, and to treat Mr.
Rubb simply as a man of business. She was denying her-
self skittles and beer, and putting up with tea and an old
aunt, because she preferred the proprieties of life to its
pleasures. Is it right that she should be blamed for such
self-denial ?

But now the skittles and beer had come after her, as
those delights will sometimes pursue the prudent youth who
would fain avoid them. Mr. Rubb was there, in her draw-
ing-room, looking extremely well, shaking hands with her
very comfortably, and soon abandoning his conversation on
that matter of business to which she had determined to con-
fine herself. She was angry with him, thinking him to be
very free and easy ; but, nevertheless, she could not keep
herself from talking to him.

"You can't do better than five per cent.," he had

MR. RUBB, JTfNIOR. 55

Baid to her, "not with first-class security, such as this
is."

All that had been well enough. Five per cent, and first-
class security were, she knew, matters of business ; and
though Mr. Rubb had winked his eye at her as he spoke of
them, leaning forward in his chair and looking at her not at
all as a man of business, but quite in a friendly way, yet she
had felt that she was so far safe. She nodded her head
also, merely intending him to understand thereby that she
herself understood something about business. But when he
suddenly changed the subject, and asked her how she liked
Mr. Stumfold's set, she drew herself up suddenly and placed
herself at once upon her guard.

" I have heard a great deal about Mr. Stumfold," con-
tinued Mr. Rubb, not appearing to observe the lady's altered
manner, " not only here and where I have been for the last
few days, but up in London also. He is quite a public
character, you know."

" Clergymen in town, who have large congregations, always
must be so, I suppose."

" Well, yes ; more or less. But Mr. Stumfold is de-
cidedly more, and not less. People say he is going in for a
bishopric."

"I had not heard it," said Miss Mackenzie, who did
not quite understand what was meant by going in for a
bishopric.

" Oh, yes, and a very likely man he would have been a
year or two ago. But they say the prime minister has
changed his tap lately."

" Changed his tap ! " said Miss Mackenzie.

" He used to draw his bishops very bitter, but now he
draws them mild and creamy. I dare say Stumfold did his
best, but he didn't quite get his hay in while the sun shone."

" He seems to me to be very comfortable where he is,"
said Miss Mackenzie.

" I dare say. It must be rather a bore for him having to
live in the house with old Peters. How Peters scraped his
money together, nobody ever knew yet ; and you are aware,
Miss Mackenzie, that old as he is, he keeps it all in his own
hands. That house, and everything that is in it, belongs to
him ; you know that, I dare say."

56 MISS MACKENZIE.

Miss Mackenzie, who could not keep herself from being
a little interested in these matters, said that she had not
known it.

" Oh dear, yes ! and the carriage too. I've no doubt
Stumfold will be all right when the old fellow dies. Such
men as Stumfold don't often make mistakes about their
money. But as long as old Peters lasts I shouldn't think it
can be quite serene. They say that she is always cutting
up rough with the old man."

" She seemed to me to behave very well to him," said
Miss Mackenzie, remembering the carriage of the teacup.

" I dare say it is so before company, and of course that's
all right ; it's much better that the dirty linen should be
washed in private. Stumfold is a clever man, there's no
doubt about that. If you've been much to his house, you've
probably met his curate, Mr. Maguire."

" I've only been there once, but I did meet Mr. Maguire."

" A man that squints fearfully. They say he's looking
out for a wife too, only she must not have a father living,
as Mrs. Stumfold has. It's astonishing how these parsons
pick up all the good things that are going in the way
of money."

Miss Mackenzie, as she heard this, could not but re-
member that she might be regarded as a good thing going
in the way of money, and became painfully aware that her
face betrayed her consciousness.

" You'll have to keep a sharp look out," continued Mr.
Rubb, giving her a kind caution, as though he were an old
familiar friend.

" I don't think there's any fear of that kind," said Miss
Mackenzie, blushing.

" I don't know about fear, but I should say that there is
great probability ; of course I am only joking about Mr.
Maguire. Like the rest of them, of course, he wishes to
feather his own nest ; and why shouldn't he ? But you may
be sure of this, Miss Mackenzie, a lady with your fortune,
and, if I may be allowed to say so, with your personal attrac-
tions, will not want for admirers."

Miss Mackenzie was very strongly of opinion that Mr.
Rubb might not be allowed to say so. She thought that he
was behaving with an unwarrantable degree of freedom in

MR. RUBB, JUNIOR. 57

Baying anything- of the kind ; but she did not know how to
tell him either by words or looks that such was the case.
And, perhaps, though the impertinence was almost un-
endurable, the idea conveyed was not altogether so grievous ;
it had certainly never hitherto occurred to her that she
might become a second Mrs. Stumfold ; but, after all, why
not ? What she wanted was simply this, that something of
interest should be added to her life. Why should not she
also work in the vineyard, in the open quasi-clerical -vine-
yard of the Lord's people, and also in the private vineyard
of some one of the people's pastors ? Mr. Rubb was very
impertinent, but it might, perhaps, be worth her while to
think of what he said. As regarded Mr. Maguire, the
gentleman whose name had been specially mentioned, it was
quite true that he did squint awfully.

" Mr. Rubb," said she, " if you please, I'd rather not talk
about such things as that."

" Nevertheless, what I say is true, Miss Mackenzie ; I
hope you don't take it amiss that I venture to feel an
interest about you."

" Oh ! no," said she ; " not that I suppose you do feel any
special interest about me."

" But indeed I do, and isn't it natural ? If you will
remember that your only brother is the oldest friend that I
have in the world, how can it be otherwise ? Of course he
is much older than me, and very much older than you, Miss
Mackenzie."

" Just twelve years," said she, very stiffly.
" I thought it had been more, but in that case you and I
are nearly of an age. As that is so, how can I fail to feel
an interest about you ? I have neither mother, nor sister,
nor wife of my own ; a sister, indeed, I have, but she's
married at Singapore, and I have not seen her for seventeen
years."
" Indeed."

" No, not for seventeen years ; and the heart does crave
for some female friend, Miss Mackenzie."
" You ough^ to get a wife, Mr. Rubb."
" That's what your brother always says. ' Samuel,' he
said to me just before I left town, ' you're settled with us
now ; your father has as good as given up to you his share

58 MISS MACKENZIE.

of the business, and you ought to get married.' Now, Miss
Mackenzie, I wouldn't take that sort of thing from any man
but your brother ; it's very odd that you should say exactly
the same thing too."

" I hope I have not offended you."

" Offended me ! no, indeed, I'm not such a fool as that.
I'd sooner know that you took an interest in me than any
woman living. I would, indeed. I dare say you don't
think much of it, but when I remember that the names of
Rubb and Mackenzie have been joined together for more
than twenty years, it seems natural to me that you and I
should be friends."

Miss Mackenzie, in the few moments which were allowed
to her for reflection before she was obliged to answer, again
admitted to herself that he spoke the truth. If there was
any fault in the matter the fault was with her brother Tom,
who had joined the name of Mackenzie with the name of
Rubb in the first instance. Where was this young man to
look for a female friend if not to his partner's family, seeing
that he had neither wife nor mother of his own, nor indeed
a sister, except one out at Singapore, who was hardly
available for any of the purposes of family affection ? And
yet it was hard upon her. It was through no negligence on
her part that poor Mr. Rubb was so ill provided. " Perhaps
it might have been so if I had continued to live in London,"
said Miss Mackenzie ; " but as I live at Littlebath — " Then
she paused, not knowing how to finish her sentence.

" What difference does that make ? The distance is
nothing if you come to think of it. Your hall door is just
two hours and a quarter from our place of business in the
New Road ; and it's one pound five and nine if you go by
first class and cabs, or sixteen and ten if you put up with
second class and omnibuses. There's no other way of
counting. Miles mean nothing now-a-days."

"They don't mean much, certainly."

"They mean nothing. Why, Miss Mackenzie, I should
think it no trouble at all to run down and consult you about
anything that occurred, about any matter of business that
weighed at all heavily, if nothing prevented me except
distance. Thirty shillings more than does it all, with a
return ticket, including a bit of lunch at the station."

MB. BUBB, JUNIOB 59

" Oh ! and as for that "

" I know what you mean, Miss Mackenzie, and I shall
never forget how kind you were to offer me refreshment
when I was here before."

" But, Mr. Rubb, I hope you won't think of doing such a
thing. What good could I do you ? I know nothing about
business ; and really, to tell the truth, I should be most
unwilling to interfere ; — that is, you know, to say anything
about anything of the kind."

" I only meant to point out that the distance is nothing.
And as to what you were advising me about getting
married "

"I didn't mean to advise you, Mr. Rubb ! "

" I thought you said so."

" But, of course, I did not intend to discuss such a matter
seriously."

" It's a most serious subject to me, Miss Mackenzie."

" No doubt ; but it's one I can't know anything about.
Men in business generally do find, I think, that they get on
better when they are married."

"Yes, they do."

" That's all I meant to say, Mr. Rubb."

After this he sat silent for a few minutes, and I am inclined
to think that he was weighing in his mind the expediency
of asking her to become Mrs. Rubb, on the spur of the
moment. But if so, his mind finally gave judgment against
the attempt, and in giving such judgment his mind was
right. He would certainly have so startled her by the
precipitancy of such a proposition, as to have greatly
endangered the probability of any further intimacy with her.
As it was, he changed the conversation, and began to ask
questions as to the welfare of his partner's daughter. At
this period of the day Susanna was at school, and he was
informed that she would not be home till the evening. Then
he plucked up courage and begged to be allowed to coma
again, — just to look in at eight o'clock, so that he might see
Susanna. He could not go back to London comfortably,
unless he could give some tidings of Susanna to the family
in Gower Street. What was she to do ? Of course she was
obliged to ask him to drink tea with them. " That would
be so pleasant," he said; and Miss Mackenzie owned to

60 MISS MACKENZIE.

herself that the gratification expressed in his face aa he spoke
was very becoming.

When Susanna came home she did not seem to know
much of Mr. Rubb, junior, or to care much about him. Old
Mr. Rubb lived, she knew, near the place of business in the
New Road, and sometimes he came to Gower Street, but
nobody liked him. She didn't remember that she had ever
seen Mr. Rubb, junior, at her mother's house but once, when
he came to dinner. When she was told that Mr. Rubb was
very anxious to see herself, she chucked up her head and
said that the man was a goose.

He came, and in a very few minutes he had talked over
Susanna. He brought her a little present, — a work-box, —
which he had bought for her at Littlebath ; and though the
work-box itself did not altogether avail, it paved the way for
rivil words, which were more efficacious. On this occasion
he talked more to his partner's daughter than to his partner's
sister, and promised to tell her mamma how well she wag
looking, and that the air of Littlebath had brought roses to
her cheeks.

" I think it is a healthy place," said Miss Mackenzie.

"I'm quite sure it is," said Mr. Rubb. "And you like
Mrs. Crammer's school, Susanna?"

She would have preferred to have been called Miss
Mackenzie, but was not disposed to quarrel with him on
the point.

"Yes, I like it very well," she said. "The other girls
are very nice ; and if one must go to school, I suppose it's
as good as any other school."

" Susanna thinks that going to school at all is rather a
nuisance," said Miss Mackenzie.

" You'd think so too, aunt, if you had to practise every
day for an hour in the same room with four other pianos.
It's my belief that I shall hate the sound of a piano the
longest day that I shall live."

" I suppose it's the same with all young ladies," said Mr.
Rubb.

"It's the same with them all at Mrs. Crammer's. There
Isn't one there that does not hate it."

" But you wouldn't like not to be able to play," said
her aunt.

MB. RUBB, JUNIOR. 61

" Mamma doesn't play, and you don't play ; and I don't
see what's the use of it. It won't make anybody like music
to hear four pianos all going at the same time, and all of
them out of tune."

" You must not tell them in Gower Street, Mr. Rubb,
that Susanna talks like that," said Miss Mackenzie.

" Yes, you may, Mr. Rubb. But you must tell them at
the same time that I am quite happy, and that Aunt
Margaret is the dearest woman in the world."

" I'll be sure to tell them that," said Mr. Rubb. Then he
went away, pressing Miss Mackenzie's hand warmly as lie
took his leave ; and as soon as he was gone, his character
was of course discussed.

" He's quite a different man, aunt, from what I thought ;
and he's not at all like old Mr. Rubb. Old Mr. Rubb,
when he comes to drink tea in Gower Street, puts his
handkerchief over his knees to catch the crumbs."

"There's no great harm in that, Susanna."

" I don't suppose there's any harm in it. It's not
wicked. It's not wicked to eat gravy with your knife."

"And does old Mr. Rubb do that?"

"Always. We used to laugh at him, because he is so
clever at it. He never spills any ; and his knife seems
to be quite as good as a spoon. But this Mr. Rubb
doesn't do things of that sort."

" He's younger, my dear."

" But being younger doesn't make people more lady-like
of itself."

"I did not know that Mr. Rubb was exactly lady,
like."

" That's taking me up unfairly ; isn't it, aunt ? You
know what I meant; and only fancy that the man should
go out and buy me a work-box. That's more than old Mr.
Rubb ever did for any of us, since the first day he knew us.
And, then, didn't you think that young Mr. Rubb is a hand-
some man, aunt ? "

" He's all very well, my dear."

" Oh ; I think he is downright handsome ; I do, indeed.
Miss Dumpus, — that's Mrs. Crammer's sister, — told us the
other day, that I was wrong to talk about a man being
handsome ; but that must be nonsense, aunt ? "

62 MISS MACKENZIE.

" I don't see that at all, my dear. If she told you so, you
ought to believe that it is not nonsense."

" Come, aunt ; you don't mean to tell me that you would
believe all that Miss Dumpus says. Miss Dumpus says
that girls should never laugh above their breath when they
are more than fourteen years old. How can you make a
change in your laughing just when you come to be fourteen ?
And why shouldn't you say a man's handsome, if he is
handsome ? "

"You'd better go to bed, Susanna."

" That won't make Mr. Bubb ugly. I wish you had asked
him to come and dine here on Sunday ; so that we might
have seen whether he eats his gravy with his knife. I
looked very hard to see whether he'd catch his crumbs in
his handkerchief."

Then Susanna went to her bed, and Miss Mackenzie was
left alone to think ov^r the perfections and imperfections
of Mr. Samuel Bubb, junior.

From that time up to Christmas she saw no more of
Mr. Bubb; but she heard from him twice. His letters,
however, had reference solely to business, and were not of a
nature to produce either anger or admiration. She had
also heard more than once from her lawyer ; and a question
had arisen as to which she was called upon to trust to her
own judgment for a decision. Messrs. Bubb and Mackenzie
had wanted the money at once, whereas the papers for the
mortgage were not ready. Would Miss Mackenzie allow
Messrs. Bubb and Mackenzie to have the money under these
circumstances ? To this inquiry from her lawyer she made
a rejoinder asking for advice. Her lawyer told her that he
could not recommend her, in the ordinary way of business,
to make any advance of money without positive security ;
but, as this was a matter between friends and near relatives,
she might perhaps be willing to do it ; and he added that,
as far as his own opinion went, he did not think that there
would be any great risk. But then it all depended on this,
— did she want to oblige her friends and near relatives ?
In answer to this question she told herself that she certainly
did wish to do so ; and she declared, — also to herself, — that
she was willing to advance the money to her brother, even
though there might be some risk. The upshot of all this

MB. RUBB, JUNIOR. 63

was that Messrs. Rubb and Mackenzie got the money some
time in October, but that the mortgage was not completed
when Christmas came. It was on this matter that Mr. Rubb,
junior, had written to Miss Mackenzie, and his letter had
been of a nature to give her a feeling of perfect security in
the transaction. With her brother she had had no further
correspondence ; but this did not surprise her, as her brother
was a man much less facile in his modes of expression than
his younger partner.

As the autumn had progressed at Littlebath, she had
become more and more intimate with Miss Baker, till she
had almost taught herself to regard that lady as a dear
friend. She had fallen into the habit of going to Mrs.
Stumfold's tea-parties every fortnight, and was now regarded
as a regular Stumfoldian by all those who interested them-
selves in such matters. She had begun a system of district
visiting and Bible reading with Miss Baker, which had at
first been very agreeable to her. But Mrs. Stumfold had on
one occasion called upon her and taken her to task, — as
Miss Mackenzie had thought, rather abruptly, — with reference
to some lack of energy or indiscreet omission of which she
had been judged to be guilty by that highly-gifted lady.
Against this Miss Mackenzie had rebelled mildly, and since
that things had not gone quite so pleasantly with her. She
had still been honoured with Mrs. Stumfold's card of in-
vitation, and had still gone to the tea-parties on Miss Baker's
strenuously-urged advice ; but Mrs. Stumfold had frowned,
and Miss Mackenzie had felt the frown ; Mrs. Stumfold had
frowned, and the retired coach-builder's wife had at once
snubbed the culprit, and Mr. Maguire had openly expressed
himself to be uneasy.

" Dearest Miss Mackenzie," he had said, with charitable
zeal, " if there has been anything wrong, just beg her pardon,
and you will find that everything has been forgotten at
once ; a more forgiving woman than Mrs. Stumfold never
lived."

" But suppose I have done nothing to be forgiven," urged
Miss Mackenzie.

Mr. Maguire looked at her, and shook his head, the exact
meaning- of the look she could not understand, as the
peculiarity of his eyes created confusion ; but when he

64 MISS MACKENZIE.

repeated twice to her the same words, " The heart of man is
exceeding treacherous," she understood that he meant to
condemn her.

" So it is, Mr. Maguire, but that is no reason why Mrs.
Stumfold should scold me."

Then he got up and left her, and did not speak to her
again that evening, but he called on her the next day, and
was very affectionate in his manner. In Mr. Stumfold's
mode of treating her she had found no difference.

With Miss Todd, whom she met constantly in the street,
and who always nodded to her very kindly, she had had one
very remarkable interview.

" I think we had better give it up, my dear," Miss Todd
had said to her. This had been in Miss Baker's drawing-
room.

" Give what up ? " Miss Mackenzie had asked.

" Any idea of our knowing each other. I'm sure it never
can come to anything, though for my part I should have
been so glad. You. see you can't serve God and Mammon,
and it is settled beyond all doubt that I'm Mammon. Isn't
it, Mary ? "

Miss Baker, to whom this appeal was made, answered it
only by a sigh.

" You see," continued Miss Todd, " that Miss Baker is
allowed to know me, though I am Mammon, for the sake of
auld lang syne. There have been so many things between
us that it wouldn't do for us to drop each other. We have
had the same lovers ; and you know, Mary, that you've been
very near coming over to Mammon yourself. There's a sort
of understanding that Miss Baker is not to be required to
cut me. But they would not allow that sort of liberty to a
Aew comer ; they wouldn't, indeed."

" I don't know that anybody would be likely to interfere
with me," said Miss Mackenzie.

" Yes, they would, my dear. You didn't quite know
yourself which way it was to be when you first came here,
and if it had been my way, I should have been most happy
to have made myself civil. You have chosen now, and I
don't doubt but what you have chosen right. I always tell
Mary Baker that it does very well for her, and I dare say it
will do very well for you too. There's a great deal in it; and

MR. BUBB, JUNIOR. 65

only Wtt some of them do tell such lies I think I should
have tried it myself. But, my dear Miss Mackenzie, you
can't do both."

After this Miss Mackenzie used to nod to Miss Todd in
the street, but beyond that there was no friendly inter-
course between those ladies.

At the beginning of December there came an invitation
to Miss Mackenzie to spend the Christmas holidays away
from Littlebath, and as she accepted this invitation, and as
we must follow her to the house of her friends, we will
postpone further mention of the matter till the next chapter.

66 MISS MACKENZIE

CHAPTER VI.

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO THE CEDARS.

ABOUT the middle of December Mrs. Mackenzie, of Gower
Street, received a letter from her sister-in-law at Littlebath,
in which it was proposed that Susanna should pass the
Christmas holidays with her father and mother. " I myself,"
said the letter, " am going for three weeks to the Cedars.
Lady Ball has written to me, and as she seems to wish it, I
shall go. It is always well, I think, to drop family dis-
sensions." The letter said a great deal more, for Margaret
Mackenzie, not having much business on hand, was fond of
writing long letters ; but the upshot of it was, that she
would leave Susanna in Gower Street, on her way to the
Cedars, and call for her on her return home.

" What on earth is she going there for ? " said Mrs. Tom
Mackenzie.

" Because they have asked her," replied the husband.

" Of course they have asked her ; but that's no reason she
should go. The Balls have behaved very badly to us, and
I should think much better of her if she stayed away."

To this Mr. Mackenzie made no answer, but simply
remarked that he would be rejoiced in having Susanna at
home on Christmas day.

" That's all very well, my dear," said Mrs. Tom, " and of
course so shall I. But as she has taken the charge of the
child I don't think she ought to drop her down and pick her
up just whenever she pleases. Suppose she was to take it
into her head to stop at the Cedars altogether, what are we
to do then ?— just have the girl returned upon our hands^

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO THE CEDARS. 67

frith all her ideas of life confused and deranged. I halo
such ways."

" She has promised to provide for Susanna, whenever she
may not continue to give her a home."

" What would such a promise be worth if John Ball got
hold of her money ? That's what they're after, as sure as
my name is Martha ; and what she's after too, very likely.
She was there once before she went to Littlebath at all.
They want to get their uncle's money back, and she wants
to be a baronet's wife."

The same view of the matter was perhaps taken by Mr.
Rubb, junior, when he was told that Miss Mackenzie was to
pass through London on her way to the Cedars, though he
did not express his fears openly, as Mrs. Mackenzie had
done.

" Why don't you ask your sister to stay in Gower Street ? "
he said to his partner.

" She wouldn't come."

" You might at any rate ask her/'

" What good would it do ? "

" Well ; I don't know that it would do any good ; but it
wouldn't do any harm. Of course it's natural that she
should wish to have friends about her ; and it will only be
natural too that she should marry some one."

" She may marry whom she pleases for me."

" She will marry whom she pleases ; but I suppose you
don't want to see her money go to the Balls."

" I shouldn't care a straw where her money went," said
Thomas Mackenzie, "if I could only know that this sum
which we have had from hor was properly arranged. To
tell you the truth, Rubb, I'm ashamed to look my sister in
the face."

" That's nonsense. Her money is as right as the bank ;
and if in such matters as that brothers and sisters can't take
liberties with each other, who the deuce can ? "

" In matters pf money nobody should ever take a liberty
with anybody," said Mr. Mackenzie.

He knew, however, that a great liberty had been taken
with his sister's money, and that his firm had no longer the
power of providing her with the security which had been
promised to her.
5—2

68 MISS MACKENZIE.

Mr. Mackenzie would take no steps, at his partner's
instance, towards arresting his sister in London ; but Mr.
Rubb was more successful with Mrs. Mackenzie, with whom,
during- the last month or two, he had contrived to establish
a greater intimacy than had ever previously existed between
the two families. He had been of late a good deal in Gower
Street, and Mrs. Mackenzie had found him to be a much
pleasanter and better educated man than she had expected.
Such was the language in which she expressed her praise of
him, though J am disposed to doubt whether she herself was
at all qualified to judge of the education of any man. He
had now talked over the affairs of Margaret Mackenzie with
her sister-in-law, and the result of that talking was that
Mrs. Mackenzie wrote a letter to Littlebath, pressing Miss
Mackenzie to stay a few days in Gower Street, on her way
through London. She did this as well as she knew how to
do it ; but still there was that in the letter which plainly
told an apt reader that there was no reality in the professions
of affection made in it. Miss Mackenzie became well aware
of the fact as she read her sister's words. Available
hypocrisy is a quality very difficult of attainment ; and of
all hypocrisies, epistolatory hypocrisy is perhaps the most
difficult. A man or woman must have studied the matter
very thoroughly, or be possessed of great natural advantages
in that direction, who can so fill a letter with false ex-
pressions of affection, as to make any reader believe them to
be true. Mrs. Mackenzie was possessed of no such skill.

" Believe her to be my affectionate sister-in-law ! I won't
believe her to be anything of the kind,". Margaret so spoke
of the writer to herself, when she had finished the letter ;
but, nevertheless, she answered it with kind language, saying
that she could not stay in town as she passed through to the
Cedars, but that she would pass one night in Gower Street
when she called to pick up Susanna on her return home*

It is hard to say what pleasure she promised herself in
going to the Cedars, or why she accepted that invitation.
She had, in truth, liked neither the people nor the house,
and had felt herself to be uncomfortable while she was there.
I think she felt it to be a duty to force herself to go out
among people who, though they were personally disagreeable
to her, might be socially advantageous. If Sir John Ball

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO THE CEDARS. 69

had not been a baronet, the call to the Cedars would not
have been so imperative on her. And yet she was not a
tuft-hunter, nor a toady. She was doing what we all do, —
endeavouring to choose her friends from the best of those
who made overtures to her of friendship. If other things
be equal, it is probable that a baronet will be more of a
gentleman and a pleasanter fellow than a manufacturer of
oilcloth. Who is there that doesn't feel that ? It is true
that she had tried the baronet, and had not found him very
pleasant, but that might probably have been her own fault.
She had been shy and stiff, and perhaps ill-mannered, or had
at least accused herself of these faults ; and therefore she
resolved to go again.

She called with Susanna as she passed through London,
and just saw her sister-in-law.

" I wish you could have stayed," said Mrs. Mackenzie.
" I will for one night, as I return, on the 10th of January,"
said Miss Mackenzie.

Mrs. Mackenzie could not understand what Mr. Rubb had
meant by saying that that old maid was soft and pleasant,
nor could she understand Susanna's love for her aunt. " I
suppose men will put up with anything for the sake of
money," she said to herself; "and as for children, the truth
is, they'll love anybody who indulges them."

" Aunt is so kind," Susanna said. " She's always kind.
If you wake her up in the middle of the night, she's kind in
a moment. And if there's anything good to eat, it will
make her eyes quite shine if she sees that anybody else likes
it. I have known her sit for half an hour ever so un-
comfortable, because she would not disturb the cat."

" Then she must be a fool, my dear," said Mrs. Mackenzie.
" She isn't a fool, mamma ; I'm quite sure of that," said
Susanna.

Miss Mackenzie went on to the Cedars, and her mind
almost misgave her in going there, as she was driven up
through the dull brick lodges, which looked as though no
paint had touched them for the last thirty years, up to the
front door of the dull brick house, which bore almost as
dreary a look of neglect as the lodges. It was a large brick
house of three stories, with the door in the middle, and three
windows on each side of the door, and a railed area with a

70 MISS MACKENZIE.

kitchen below the ground. Such houses were built very
commonly in the neighbourhood of London some hundred
and fifty years ago, and they may still be pleasant enough
to the eye if there be ivy over them, and if they be clean
with new paint, and spruce with the outer care of gardeners
and the inner care of housemaids ; but old houses are often
like old ladies, who require more care in their dressing than
they who are younger. Very tittle care was given to the
Cedars, and the place therefore always looked ill-dressed.
On the right hand as you entered was the dining-room, and
the three windows to the left were all devoted to the hall.
Behind the dining-room was Sir John's study, as he called
it, and behind or beyond the hall was the drawing-room,
from which four windows looked out into the garden. This
might have been a pretty room had any care been taken to
make anything pretty at the Cedars. But the furniture was
old, and the sofas were hard, and the tables were rickety,
and the curtains which had once been red had become brown
with the sun. The dinginess of the house had not struck
Miss Mackenzie so forcibly when she first visited it, as it did
now. Then she had come almost direct from Arundel
Street, and the house in Arundel Street had itself been very
dingy. Mrs. Stumfold's drawing-rooms were not dingy, nor
were her own rooms in the Paragon. Her eye had become
accustomed to better things, and she now saw at once how
old were the curtains, and how lamentably the papers wanted
to be renewed on the walls. She had, however, been drawn
from the neighbouring station to the house in the private
carriage belonging to the establishment, and if there was
any sense of justice in her, it must be presumed that she
balanced the good things with the bad.

But her mind misgave her, not because the house was
outwardly dreary, but in fear of the inward dreariness of
the people, — or in fear rather of their dreariness and pride
combined. Old Lady Ball, though naturally ill-natured, was
not ill-mannered, nor did she give herself any special airs ;
but she knew that she was a baronet's wife, that she kept
her carriage, and that it was an obligation upon her to make
up for the poverty of her house by some little haughtiness
of demeanour. There are women, high in rank, but poor in
pocket, so gifted with the peculiar grace of aristocracy, that

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO THE CEDARS. 71

they show by every word spoken, by every turn of the head,
by every step taken, that they are among the high ones of
the earth, and that money has nothing to do with it. Old
Lady Ball was not so gifted, nor had she just claim to such
gifts. But some idea on the subject pervaded her mind, and
she made efforts to be aristocratic in her poverty. Sir John
was a discontented, cross old man, who had succeeded
greatly in early life, having been for nearly twenty years in
Parliament, but had fallen into adversity in his older days.
The loss of that very money which his niece, Miss Mackenzie,
was possessed, was, in truth, the one great misfortune which
he deplored; but that misfortune had had ramifications
and extensions with which the reader need not trouble
himself; but which, altogether, connected as they were
with certain liberal aspirations which he had entertained
in early life, and certain political struggles made during
his parliamentary career, induced him to regard himself
as a sort of Prometheus. He had done much for the
world, and the world in return had made him a baronet
without any money ! He was a very tall, thin, grey-haired,
old man, stooping much, and worn with age, but still
endowed with some strength of will, and great capability
of making himself unpleasant. His son was a bald-headed,
stout man, somewhat past forty, who was by no means
without cleverness, having done great things as a young
man at Oxford ; but in life he had failed. He was a
director of certain companies in London, at which he
used to attend, receiving his guinea for doing so, and he
had some small capital, — some remnant of his father's trade
wealth, which he nursed with extreme care, buying shares
here and there, and changing his money about as his keen
outlook into city affairs directed him. I do not suppose that
he had much talent for the business, or he would have grown
rich ; but a certain careful zeal carried him on without
direct loss, and gave him perhaps five per cent, for his
capital, whereas he would have received no more than four
and a half had he left it alone and taken his dividends
without troubling himself. As the difference did not
certainly amount to a hundred a-year, it can hardly be said
that he made good use of his time. His zeal deserved a
better success. He was always thinking of his money;

72 MISS MACKENZIE.

excusing himself to himself and to others by the fact of his
nine children. For myself I think that his children were
no justification to him ; — as they would have been held to
be none, had he murdered and robbed his neighbours for
their sake.

There had been a crowd of girls in the house when Miss
Mackenzie had paid her former visit to the Cedars, — so many
that she had carried away no remembrance of them as
individuals. But at that time the eldest son, a youth now
just of age, was not at home. This hope of the Balls, who
was endeavouring to do at Oxford as his father had done,
was now with his family, and came forward to meet his
cousin as the old carriage was driven up to the door. Old
Sir John stood within, in the hall, mindful of the winter air,
and Lady Ball, a little mindful of her dignity, remained at
the drawing-room door. Even though Miss Mackenzie had
eight hundred a-year, and was nearly related to the Incharro w
family, a further advance than the drawing-room door would
be inexpedient ; for the lady, with all her virtues, was still
sister to the man who dealt in retail oilcloth in the New
Koad!

Miss Mackenzie thought nothing of this, but was well
contented to be received by her hostess in the drawing-
room.

" It's a dull house to come to, my dear," said Lady Ball ;
" but blood is thicker than water, they say, and we thought
that perhaps you might like to be with your cousins at
Christmas.' '

" I shall like it very much," said Miss Mackenzie.

"I suppose you must find it rather sad, living alone at
Littlebath, away from all your people ? "

" I have my niece with me, you know."

" A niece, have you ? That's one of the girls from Gower
Street, I suppose ? It's very kind of you, and I dare say,
very proper."

" But Littlebath is a very gay place, I thought," said
John Ball, the third and youngest of the name. " We always
icar of it at Oxford as being the most stunning place for
parties anywhere near."

" I suppose you play cards every night of your life," said
the baronet.

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO THE CEDARS. 73

" No ; I don't play cards," said Miss Mackenzie. "Many
ladies do, but I'm not in that set."

" What set are you in ? " said Sir John.

"I don't think I am in any set. I know Mr. Stumfold,
the clergyman there, and I go to his house sometimes."

" Oh, ah ; I see," said Sir John. " I beg your pardon
for mentioning cards. I shouldn't have done it, if I had
known that you were one of Mr. Stumfold's people."

" I am not one of Mr. Stumfold's people especially," she
said, and then she went up stairs.

The other John Ball came back from London just in time
for dinner ; — the middle one of the three, whom we will call
Mr. Ball. He greeted his cousin very kindly, and then
said a word or two to his mother about shares. She
answered him, assuming a look of interest in his tidings.

" I don't understand it ; upon my word, I don't," said he
" Some of them will burn their fingers before they've done.
I don't dare do it ; I know that."

In the evening, when John Ball, — or Jack, as he was
called in the family, — had left the drawing-room, and the old
man was alone with his son, they discussed the position of
Margaret Mackenzie.

" You'll find she has taken up with the religious people
there," said the father.

" It's just what she would do," said the son.

" They're the greatest thieves going. When once they
have got their eyes upon money, they never take them
off again."

" She's not been there long enough yet to give any one a
hold upon her."

" I don't know that, John ; but, if you'll take my advice,
you'll find out the truth at once. She has no children,
and if you've made up your mind about it, you'll do no good
by delay."

" She's a very nice woman, in her way."

" Yes, she's nice enough. She's not a beauty j eh, John?
and she won't set the Thames on fire."

* I don't wish her to do so ; but I think she'd look after
the girls, and do her duty."

" I dare say ; unless she has taken to run after prayer-
meetings every hour of her life,"

74 MISS MACKENZIE.

" They don't often do that after they're married, Sir."
" Well ; I know nothing- against her. I never thought
much of her brothers, and I never cared to know them.
One's dead now, and as for the other, I don't suppose he
need trouble you much. If you've made up your mind about
it, I think you might as well ask her at once." From all
which it may be seen that Miss Mackenzie had been
invited to the Cedars with a direct object on the part of
Mr. Ball.

But though the old gentleman thus strongly advised
instant action, nothing was done during Christmas week, nor
had any hint been given up to the end of the year. John
Ball, however, had not altogether lost his time, and had
played the part of middle-aged lover better than might have
been expected from one the whole tenor of whose life was
so thoroughly unromantic. He did manage to make himself
pleasant to Miss Mackenzie, and so far ingratiated himself
with her that he won much of her confidence in regard to
money matters.

" But that's a very large sum of money ? " he said to her
one day as they were sitting together in his father's study.
He was alluding to the amount which she had lent to Messrs.
Rubb and Mackenzie, and had become aware of the fact
that as yet Miss Mackenzie held no security for the loan.
" Two thousand five hundred pounds is a very large sum of
money."

" But I'm to get five per cent., John." They were
first cousins, but it was not without some ceremonial
difficulty that they had arrived at each other's Christian
names.

" My dear Margaret, their word for five per cent, is no
security. Five per cent, is nothing magnificent. A lady
situated as you are should never part with her money with-
out security; — never : but if she does, she should have more
than five per cent."

"You'll find it's all right, I don't doubt," said Miss
Mackenzie, who, however, was beginning to have little
inward tremblings of her own.

"I hope so ; but I must say, I think Mr. Slow has been
much to blame. I do, indeed." Mr. Slow was the attorney
who had for years acted for Walter Mackenzie and his father,

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO THE CEDARS. 75

and was now acting for Miss Mackenzie. " Will you allow
me to go to him and see about it ? "

" It has not been his fault. He wrote and asked me
whether I would let them have it, before the papers were
ready, and I said I would."

" But may I ask about it ? "

Miss Mackenzie paused before she answered :

" I think you had better not, John. Remember that Tom
is my own brother, and I should not like to seem to doubt
him. Indeed, I do not doubt him in the least, — nor yet
Mr. Rubb."

" I can assure you that it is a very bad way of doing
business," said ths anxious lover.

By degrees she began to like her cousin John Ball. I do
not at all wish the reader to suppose that she had fallen in
love with that bald-headed, middle-aged gentleman, or that
she even thought of him in the light of a possible husband ;
but she found herself to be comfortable in his company, and
was able to make a friend of him. It is true that he talked
to her more of money than anything else ; but then it was
her money of which he talked, and he did it with an interest
that could not but natter her. He was solicitous about her
welfare, gave her bits of advice, did one or two commissions
for her in town, called her Margaret, and was kind and
cousinly. The Cedars, she thought, was altogether more
pleasant than she had found the place before. Then she
told herself that on the occasion of her former visit she had
not been there long enough to learn to like the place or
the people. Now she knew them, and though she stil]
dreaded her uncle and his cross sayings, and though that
driving out with her aunt in the old carriage was tedious,
she would have been glad to prolong her stay there, had
she not bound herself to take Susanna back to the school at
Littlebath on a certain, day. Wlien that day came near, —
and it did come very near before Mr. Ball spoke out, — they
pressed her to prolong her stay. This was done by both
Lady Ball and by her son.

" You might as well remain with us another fortnight,"
said Lady Ball during one of these drives. It was the last
drive which Miss Mackenzie had through Twickenham lanes
during that visit to the Cedars.

76 MISS MACKENZIE.

" I can't do it, aunt, because of Susanna."

"I don't see that at all. You're not to make yourself a
slave to Susanna."

" But I'm to make myself a mother to her as well as I
can."

"I must say you have been rather hasty, my dear. Sup-
pose you were to change your mode of life, what would
you do ? "

Then Miss Mackenzie, blushing slightly in the obscure
corner of the carriage as she spoke, explained to Lady Ball
that clause in her agreement with her brother respecting the
five hundred pounds.

" Oh, indeed," said Lady Ball.

The information thus given had been manifestly distasteful,
and the conversation was for a while interrupted ; but
Lady Ball returned to her request before they were again at
home.

" I really do think you might stop, Margaret. Now that
we have all got to know each other, it will be a great pity
that it all should be broken up."

" But I hope it won't be broken up, aunt."

" You know what I mean, my dear. When people
live so far off they can't see each other constantly ;
and now you are here, I think you might stay a little
longer. I know there is not much attraction "

" Oh, aunt, don't say that ! I like being here very
much."

" Then, why can't you stay ? Write and tell Mrs. Tom
that she must keep Susanna at home for another week or so.
It can't matter."

To this Miss Mackenzie made no immediate answer.

" It is not only for myself I speak, but John likes having
you here with his girls ; and Jack is so fond of you ; and
John himself is quite different while you are here. Do
stay ! "

Saying which Lady Ball put out her hand caressingly
on Miss Mackenzie's arm.

" I'm afraid I mustn't," said Miss Mackenzie, very slowly.
" Much as I should like it, I'm afraid I mustn't do it. I've
pledged myself to go back with Susanna, and I like to be as
good as my word."

MISS MACKENZIE GOES TO THE CEDARS. 77

Lady Ball drew herself up.

" I never went so much out of my way to ask any one to
stay in my house before," she said.

" Dear aunt ! don't be angry with me."

" Oh no ! I'm not angry. Here we are. Will you get
out first ? "

Whereupon Lady Ball descended from the carriage, and
walked into the house with a good deal of dignity.

" What a wicked old woman she was ! " virtuous readers
will say ; " what a wicked old woman to endeavour to catch
that poor old maid's fortune for her son ! "

But I deny that she was in any degree a wicked old
woman on that score. Why should not the two cousins
marry, and do very well together with their joint
means ? Lady Ball intended to make a baronet's wife of
her. If much was to be taken, was not much also to be
given ?

" You are going to stay, are you not ? " Jack said to her
that evening, as he wished her good-night. She was
very fond of Jack, who was a nice-looking, smooth-faced
young fellow, idolised by his sisters over whom he
tyrannised, and bullied by his grandfather, before whom
he quaked.

" I'm afraid not, Jack ; but you shall come and see me at
Littlebath, if you will."

" I should like it, of all things ; but I do wish you'd stay :
the house is so much nicer when you are in it ! "

But of course she could not stay at the request of the
young lad, when she had refused the request of the lad's
grandmother.

After this she had one day to remain at the Cedars. It
was a Thursday, and on the Friday she was to go to her
brother's house on her way to Littlebath. On the Thursday
morning Mr. Ball waylaid her on the staircase, as she came
down to breakfast, and took her with him into the drawing-
room. There he made his request, standing with her in the
middle of the room.

" Margaret," he said, " must you go away and leave
us?"

" I'm afraid I must, John," she said.

" I wish we could make you think better of it."

78 MISS MACKENZIE.

" Of course I should like to stay, but '*

"Yes, there's always a but. I should have thought that,
of all people in the world, you were the one most able to do
just what you please with your time."

" We have all got duties to do, John."

" Of course we have ; but why shouldn't it be your duty
to make your relations happy ? If you could only know how
much I like your being here ? "

Had it not been that she did not dare to do that for the
son which she had refused to the mother, I think that she
would have given way. As it was, she did not know how
to yield, after having persevered so long.

" You are all so kind," she said, giving him her hand,
" that it goes to my heart to refuse you ; but I'm afraid I
can't. I do not wish to give my brother's wife cause to com-
plain of me."

" Then," said Mr. Ball, speaking very slowly, " I must
ask this favour of you, that you will let me see you alone
for half an hour after dinner this evening."

" Certainly," said Miss Mackenzie.

" Thank you, Margaret. After tea I will go into the study,
and perhaps you will follow me."

MISS MACKENZIE LEAVES THE CEDABS. 70

CHAPTER VH.

MISS MACKENZIE LEAVES THE CEDARS.

THERE was something so serious in her con-sin's request to
her, and so much of gravity in his mode of making it, that
Miss Mackenzie could not but think of it throughout the
day. On what subject did he wish to speak to her in so
solemn and special a manner ? An idea of the possibility of
an offer no doubt crossed her mind and flattered her, but it
did not do more than this ; it did not remain fixed with her,
or induce her to resolve what answer she would give if such
offer were made. She was afraid to allow herself to think
that such a thing could happen and put the matter away
from her, — uneasily, indeed, but still with so much resolution
as to leave her with a conviction that she need not give any
consideration to such an hypothesis.

And she 'was not at a loss to suggest to herself another
subject. Her cousin had learned something about her
money which he felt himself bound to tell her, but which
he would not have told her now had she consented to remain
at the Cedars. There was something wrong about the
loan. This made her seriously unhappy, for she dreaded
the necessity of discussing her brother's conduct with her
cousin.

During the whole of the day Lady Ball was very courteous,
but rather distant.. Lady Ball had said to herself that
Margaret would have stayed had she been in a disposition
favourable to John Ball's hopes. If she should decline the
alliance with which the Balls proposed to honour her, then
Lady Ball was prepared to be very cool. There would

80 MISS MACKENZIE.

be an ingratitude in such a proceeding after the open-armed
affection which had been shown to her which Lady Ball
could not readily bring herself to forgive. Sir John,
once or twice during the day, took up his little sarcasms
against her supposed religious tendencies at Littlebath.

"You'll be glad to get back to Mr. Stumfold," he
said.

" I shall be glad to see him, of course," she answered, " as
he is a friend."

" Mr. Stumfold has a great many lady friends at Little-
bath," he continued.

" Yes, a great many," said Miss Mackenzie, understanding
well that she was being bullied.

" What a pity that there can be only one Mrs. Stumfold,"
snarled the baronet ; " it's often a wonder to me how women
can be so foolish."

" And it's often a wonder to me," said Miss Mackenzie,
" how gentlemen can be so ill-natured."

She had plucked up her spirits of late, and had resented
Sir John's ill-humour.

At the usual hour Mr. Ball came home to dinner, and
Miss Mackenzie, as soon as she saw him, again became
fluttered. She perceived that he was not at his ease, and
that made her worse. When he spoke to the girls he seemed
hardly to mind what he was saying, and he greeted his
mother without any whispered tidings as to the share-market
of the day.

Margaret asked herself if it could be possible that any-
thing was very wrong about her own money. If the worst
came to the worst she could but have lost that two thousand
five hundred pounds and she would be able to live well
enough without it. If her brother had asked her for it, she
would have given it to him. She would teach herself to
regard it as a gift, and then the subject would not make her
unhappy.

They all came down to dinner, and they all went in to tea, and
the tea-things were taken away, and then John Ball arose.
During tea-time neither he nor Miss Mackenzie had spoken
a word, and when she got up to follow him, there was a
solemnity about the matter which ought to have been
ludicrous to any of those remaining, who might chance to

MISS MACKENZIE LEAVES THE CEDARS. 81

know what was about to happen. It must be supposed
that Lady Ball at any rate did know, and when she saw her
middle-aged niece walk slowly out of the room after her
middle-aged son, in order that a love proposal might be
made from one to the other with advantage, she must, I
should think, have perceived the comic nature of the
arrangement. She went on, however, very gravely with
her knitting, and did not even make an attempt to catch her
husband's eye.

"Margaret," said John Ball, as soon as he had shut
the study door; — "but, perhaps, you had better sit
down."

Then she sat down, and he came and seated himself opposite
to her ; — opposite her, but not so close as to give him any
of the advantages of a lover.

" Margaret, I don't know whether you have guessed the
subject on which I wish to speak to you ; but I wish you
had."

" Is it about the money ? " she asked.

" The money ! What money ? The money you have lent
to your brother ? Oh, no."

Then, at that moment, Margaret did, I think, guess.

" It's not at all about the money," he said, and then he
sighed.

He had at one time thought of asking his mother to
make the proposition for him, and now he wished that he
had done so.

"No, Margaret, it's something else that I want to
say. I believe you know my condition in life pretty
accurately."

" In what way, John ? "

" I am a poor man ; considering my large family, a very
poor man. I have between eight and nine hundred a year,
and when my father and mother are both gone I shall
have nearly as much more ; but I have nine children, and
as I must keep up something of a position, I have a hard
time of it sometimes, I can tell you."

Here he paused, as though he expected her to say
something ; but she had nothing to say and he went
on.

" Jack is at Oxford, as you know, and I wish to give him
6

82 MISS MACKENZIE.

any chance that a good education may afford. It did not
do much for me, but he may be more lucky. When my
father is dead, I think I shall sell this place ; but I have not
quite made up my mind about that ; — it must depend on
circumstances. As for the girls, you see that I do what I
can to educate them."

" They seem to me to be brought up very nicely ; nothing
could be better."

" They are good girls, very good girls, and so is Jack a
very good fellow."

" I love Jack dearly," said Miss Mackenzie, who had
already come to a half-formed resolution that Jack Ball
should be heir to half her fortune, her niece Susanna being
heiress to the other half.

" Do you ? I'm so glad of that." And there was actually
a tear in the father's eye.

"And so I do the girls," said Margaret. " It's something
so nice to feel that one has people really belonging to one
than one may love. I hope they'll know Susanna some day,
for she's a very nice girl, — a very dear girl."

" I hope they will," said Mr. Ball ; but there was not
much enthusiasm, in the expression of this hope.

Then he got up from his chair, and took a turn across
the room. " The truth is, Margaret, that there's no use
in my beating about the bush. I sha'n't say what I've
got to say a bit the better for delaying it. I want you
to be my wife, and to be a mother to those children. I
like you better than any woman I've seen since I lost
Rachel, but I shouldn't dare to make you such an offer if
you had not money of your own. I could not marry un-
less my wife had money, and I would not marry any
woman unless I felt I could love her ; — not if she had ever
so much. There ! now you know it all. I suppose I have
not said it as I ought to do, but if you're the woman I
take you for that won't make much difference."

For my part I think that he said what he had to say
very well. I do not know that he could have done it
much better. I do not know that any other form of words
would have been more persuasive to the woman he was
addressing. Had he said much of his love, or nothing of his
poverty; or had he omitted altogether any mention of

MISS MACKENZIE LEAVES THE CEDARS. 83

her wealth, her heart would have gone against him at
once. As it was he bad produced in her mind such a
state of doubt, that she was unable to answer him on the
moment.

" I know," he went on to say, " that I haven't much to
offer you." He had now seated himself again, and as he spoke
he looked upon the ground.

41 It isn't that, John," she answered ; " you have much
more to give than I have a right to expect."

.N'o," he said. " What I offer you is a life of endless
trouble and care. I know all about it myself. It's all
very well to talk of a competence and a big house, and if
you were to take me, perhaps we might keep the old
place on and furnish it again, and my mother thinks a great
deal about the title. For my part I think it's only a nui-
sance when a man has not got a fortune with it, and I
don't suppose it will be any pleasure to you to be called
Lady Ball. You'd have a life of fret and worry, and would
not have half so much money to spend as you have now.
I know all that, and have thought a deal about it before
I could bring myself to speak to you. But, Margaret,
you would have duties which would, I think, in themselves,
have a pleasure for you. You would know what to do with your
life, and would be of inestimable value to many people who
would love you dearly. As for me, I never saw any other
woman whom I could bring myself to offer as a mother
to my children." All this he said looking down at the floor,
in a low, dull, droning voice, as though every sentence
spoken were to have been the last. Then he paused, looked
into her face for a moment, and after that, allowed his eyes
again to fall on the ground.

Margaret was, of course, aware that she must make him
some answer, and she was by no means prepared to give
him one that would be favourable. Indeed, she thought
she knew that she could not marry him, because she felt
that she did not love him with affection of the sort which
would be due to a husband. She told herself that she must
refuse his offer. But yet she wanted time, and above all
_-5, she wished to find words which would not be pain-
ful to him. His dull droning voice, and the honest recital
of his troubles, and of her troubles if she were to share
6— ^

84 MISS MACKENZIE

his lot, had touched her more nearly than any vows of love
would have done. When he told her of the heavy duties
which might fall to her lot as his wife, he almost made her
think that it might be well for her to marry him, even
though she did not love • him. " I hardly know how to
answer you, you have taken me so much by surprise," she
said.

" You need not give me an answer at once," he replied ;
" you can think of it." As she did not immediately say any.
thing, he presumed that she assented to this proposition.
"You won't wonder now," he said, " that I wished you to
stay here, or that my mother wished it."

" Does Lady Ball know ? " she asked.

" Yes, my mother does know."

" What am I to say to her ? "

" Shall I tell you, Margaret, what to say ? Put your
arms round her neck, and tell her that you will be her
daughter."

" No, John ; I cannot do that ; and perhaps I ought to say
now that I don't think it will ever be possible. It has all
so surprised me, that I haven't known how to speak ;
and I am afraid I shall be letting you go from me with
a false idea. Perhaps I ought to say at once that it can.
not be."

"No, Margaret, no. It is much better that you should
think of it. No harm can come of that."

" There will be harm if you are disappointed."

" I certainly shall be disappointed if you decide against
me ; but not more violently so, if you do it next week than
if you do it now. But I do hope that you will not decide
against me."

" And what am I to do ? "

" You can write to me from Littlebath."

" And how soon must I write ? "

" As soon as you can make up your mind. But Margaret,
do not decide against me too quickly. I do not know
that I shall do myself any good by promising you that I will
love you tenderly." So saying he put out his hand, and she
took it; and they stood there looking into each other's
eyes, as young lovers might have done ; — as his son might
have looked into those of her daughter, had she been

MISS MACKENZIE LEAVES THE CEDARS. 83

married young and had children of her own. In the teeth
of all those tedious money dealings in the city there was
some spice of romance left within his bosom yet !

But how was she to get herself out of the room ? It
would not do for such a Juliet to stay all the night look-
ing into the eyes 01 her ancient Romeo. And how was she
to behave herself to Lady Ball, when she should again find
herself in the drawing-room, conscious as she was that
Lady Ball knew all about it ? And how was she to con-
duct herself before all those young people whom she had
left there ? And her proposed father-in-law, whom she
feared so much, and in truth disliked so greatly ; — would
he know all about it, and thrust his ill-natured jokes at
her ? Her lover should have opened the door for her to
pass through ; but instead of doing so, as soon as she had
withdrawn her hand from his, he placed himself on the
rug, and leaned back in silence against the chimney-
piece.

" I suppose it wouldn't do," she said, " for me to go off to
bed without seeing them."

" I think you had better see my mother," he replied, " else
you will feel awkward in the morning."

Then she opened the door for herself, and with frightened
feet crept back to the drawing-room. She could hardly
bring herself to open the second door ; but when she had
done so, her heart was greatly released, as, looking in, she
saw that her aunt was the only person there.

"Well, Margaret," said the old lady, walking up to her ;
"well?"

" Dear aunt, I don't know what I am to say to you. I
don't know what you want."

"I want you to tell me you have consented to become
John's wife."

"But I have not consented. Think how sudden it has
been, aunt ! "

" Yes, yes ; I can understand that. You could not tell
him at once that you would take him ; but you won't mind
telling me."

" I would have told him so in an instant, if I had made up
my mind. Do you think I would wish to keep him in
suspense on such a matter ? If I could have felt that I

86 MISS MACKENZIE.

could love him as his wife, I would have told him so
instantly, — instantly . ' '

"And why not love him as his wife ; — why not ? " Lady
Ball as she asked the question, was almost imperious in her
eagerness.

" Why not, aunt ? It is not easy to answer such a
question as that. A woman, I suppose, can't say why she
doesn't love a man, nor yet why she does. You see, it's so
sudden. I hadn't thought of him in that way."

"You've known him now for nearly a year, and you've
been in the house with him for the last three weeks. If
you haven't seen that he has been attached to you, you are
the only person in the house that has been so blind."

" I haven't seen it at all, aunt."

" Perhaps you are afraid of the responsibility," said Lady
Ball.

" I should fear it certainly ; but that alone would not deter
me. I would endeavour to do my best."

" And you don't like living in the same house with me and
Sir John."

" Indeed, yes ; you are always good to me ; and as to my
uncle, I know he does not mean to be unkind. I should not
fear that."

" The truth is, I suppose, Margaret, that you do not like
to part with your money."

" That's unjust, aunt. I don't think I care more for my
money than another woman."

" Then what is it ? He can give you a position in the
world higher than any you could have had a hope to
possess. As Lady Ball you will be equal in all respects to
your own far-away cousin, Lady Mackenzie."

" That has nothing to do with it, aunt."

"Then what is it?" asked Lady Ball again. "I
suppose you have no absolute objection to be a baronet's
wife."

" Suppose aunt that I do not love him ? "

" Pshaw ! " said the old woman.

" But it isn't pshaw," said Miss Mackenzie. " No *Woman
ou^ht to marry a man unless she feels that she loves
him."

" Pshaw ! " said Lady Ball again.

LEAVES 1 li !•_

They had both been standing ; and as everybody else was
gone Miss Mackenzie had determined that she would go off
to bed without settling herself in the room. So she prepared
herself for her departure.

" I'll say good-night now, aunt. I have still some of my
packing to do, and I must be up early."

" Don't be in a hurry, Margaret. I want to speak to you
before you leave us, and I shall have no othetr opportunity.
Sit down, won't you ? "

Then Miss Mackenzie seated herself, most unwillingly.

" I don't know that there is anyone nearer to you than I
am, my dear ; at any rate, no woman ; and therefore I can
say more than any other person. When you talk of not
loving John, does that mean, — does it mean that you are
engaged to anyone else ? "

" No, it does not."

" And it does not mean that there is anyone else whom you
are thinking of marrying ? "

" I am not thinking of marrying anyone."

" Or that you love any other man ? "

" You are cross-questioning me, aunt, more than is
fair."

" Then there is some one ? "

" No, there is nobody. What I say about John I don't say
through any feeling for anybody else."

" Then, my dear, I think that a little talk between you
and me may make this matter all right. I'm sure you don't
doubt John when he says that he loves you very dearly. As for
your loving him, of course that would come. It is not as if
you two were two young people, and that you wanted to be
billing and cooing. Of course you ought to be fond of each
other, and like each other's company ; and I have no doubt
that you will. You and I would, of course, be thrown
very much together, and I'm sure I'm very fond of
you. Indeed, Margaret, I have endeavoured to show that
I am."

" You've been, very kind, aunt."

" Therefore as to your loving him, I really don't think
there need be any doubt about that. Then, my dear, as to
the other part of the arrangement, — the money and all that.
If you were to have any children, your own fortune would

88 MISS MACKENZIE.

be settled on them ; at least, that could be arranged, if you
required it ; though, as your fortune all came from the
Balls, and is the very money with which the title was
intended to be maintained, you probably would not be very
exacting about that. Stop a moment, my dear, and let me
finish before you speak. I want you particularly to think of
what I say, and to remember that all your money did come
from the Balls. It has been very hard upon John, you must
feel that. Look at him with his heavy family, and how he
works for them ! "

" But my uncle Jonathan died and left his money to my
brothers before John was married. It is twenty-five years
ago."

" Well I remember it, my dear ! John was just engaged
to Rachel, and the marriage was put off because of the
great cruelty of Jonathan's will . Of course I am not blam-
ing you.'*

" I was only ten years old, and uncle Jonathan did not
leave me a penny. My money came to me from my brother ;
and, as far as I can understand, it is nearly double as much
as he got from Sir John's brother."

" That may be ; but John would have doubled it quite as
readily as Walter Mackenzie. What I mean to say is this,
that as you have the money which in the course of nature
would have come to John, and which would have been his
now if a great injustice had not been done "

" It was done by a Ball, and not by a Mackenzie."

" That does not alter the case in the least. Your feelings
should be just the same in spite of that. Of course the
money is yours and you can do what yon like with it. You can
give it to young Mr. Samuel Rubb, if you please." Stupid old
woman ! " But I think you must feel that you should repair
the injury which was done, as it is in your power to do so.
A fine position is offered you. When poor Sir John goes,
you will become Lady Ball, and be the mistress of this house,
and have your own carriage." Terribly stupid old woman !
" And you would have friends and relatives always round
you, instead of being all alone at such a place as Littlebath,
which must, I should say, be very sad. Of course there
would be duties to perform to the dear children ; but I don't
think .so ill of you, Margaret, as to suppose for an instant

MISS MACKENZIE LEAVES THE CEDARS. 89

that you would shrink from that. Stop one moment,, my
dear, and I shall have done. I think I have said all now ;
but I can well understand that when John spoke to you, you
could not immediately give him a favourable answer. It
was much better to leave it till to-morrow. But you can't
have any objection to speaking out to me, and I really think
you might make me happy by saying that it shall be as I
wish."

It is astonishing the harm that an old woman may do
when she goes well to work, and when she believes she can
prevail by means of her own peculiar eloquence. Lady Ball
had so trusted to her own prestige, to her own ladyship, to
her own carriage and horses, and to the rest of it, and had
also so misjudged Margaret's ordinary mild manner, that
she had thought to force her niece into an immediate
acquiescence by her mere words. The result, however, was
exactly the contrary to this. Had Miss Mackenzie been left
to herself after the interview with Mr. Ball, had she gone
up stairs to sleep upon his proposal, without any disturbance
to those visions of sacrificial duty which his plain statement
had produced, had she been allowed to leave the house and
think over it all without any other argument to her than
those which he had used, I think that she would have
accepted him. But now she was up in arms against the
whole thing. Her mind, clear as it was, was hardly lucid
enough to allow of her separating the mother and son at this
moment. She was claimed as a wife into the family because
they thought that they had a right to her fortune ; and the
temptations offered, by which they hoped to draw her into
her duty, were a beggarly title and an old coach ! No !
The visions of sacrificial duty were all dispelled. There was
doubt before, but now there was no doubt.

" I think I will go to bed aunt," she said very calmly,
" and I will write to John from Littlebath."

" And cannot you put me out of my suspense ? "

" If you wish it, yes. I know that I must refuse him. I
wish that I had told him so at once, as then there would
have been an end of it."

"You don't mean that you have made up your
mind ? "

"Yes, aunt, I do. I should be wrong to marry a man

90 MISS MACKENZIE.

that I do not love ; and as for the money, aunt, I must say
that I think you are mistaken."

" How mistaken ? "

"You think that I am called upon to put right some
wrong that you think was done you by Sir John's brother.
I don't think that I am under any such obligation. Uncle
Jonathan left his money to his sister's children instead of to
his brother's children. If his money had come to John, you
would not have admitted that we had any claim, because we
were nephews and nieces."

" The whole thing would have been different."

" Well, aunt, I am very tired, and if you'll let me, I'll go
to bed."

" Oh, certainly."

Then, with anything but warm affection, the aunt and
niece parted, and Miss Mackenzie went to her bed with a
firm resolution that she would not become Lady Ball.

It had been arranged for some time back that Mr. Ball
was to accompany his cousin up to London by the train ;
and though under the present circumstances that arrange-
ment was not without a certain amount of inconvenience,
there was no excuse at hand for changing it. Not a word
was said at breakfast as to the scenes of last night. Indeed,
no word could very well have been said, as all the family
was present, including Jack and the girls. Lady Ball was
very quiet, and very dignified ; but Miss Mackenzie per-
ceived that she was always called " Margaret," and not " my
dear," as had been her aunt's custom. Very little was
by any one, and not a great deal was eaten.

" Well ; when are we to see you back again ? " said Sir
John, as Margaret arose from her chair on being told thai
the carriage was there.

" Perhaps you and my aunt will come down some day and
see me at Littlebath ? " said Miss Mackenzie.

" No ; I don't think that's very likely," said Sir John.

Then she kissed all the children, till she came to Jack.

" I am going to kiss you, too," she said to him.

"No objection in life," said Jack. "I shan't complaii
about that."

" You'll come and see me at Littlebath ? " said she.

" That I will if vou'll ask me."

MISS MACKENZIE LEAVES THE CEDARS. 91

Then she put her face to her aunt, and Lady Ball per-
mitted her cheek to be touched. Lady Ball was still not
without hope, but she thought that the surest way was to
assume a high dignity of demeanour, and to exhibit a certain
amount of displeasure. She still believed that Margaret
might be frightened into the match.

It was but a mile and a half to the station, and for that
distance Mr. Ball and Margaret sat together in the carriage.
He said nothing to her as to his proposal till the station
was in view, and then only a word.

" Think well of it, Margaret, if you can."

" I fear I cannot think well of it,'5 she answered. But
she spoke so low, that I doubt whether he completely heard
her words. The train up to London was nearly full, and
there he had no opportunity of speaking to her. But
he desired no such opportunity. He had said all
that he had to say, and was almost well pleased to
know that a final answer was to be given to him, not
personally, but by letter. His mother had spoken to him
that morning, and had made him understand that she was
not well pleased with Margaret ; but she had said nothing
to quench her son's hopes.

" Of course she will accept you," Lady Ball had said, " but
women like her never like to do anything without making
a fuss about it."

"To me, yesterday, I thought she behaved admirably,"
said her son.

At the station at London he put her into the cab that was
to take her to Gower Street, and as he shook hands with
her through the window, he once more said the same
words :

"Think well of it, Margaret if yon oiwa,"

MISS MACKENZIE.

CHAPTER YIH

DINNER PARTY.

MRS. TOM was ever so gracious on the arrival of her
sister-in-law, but even in her graciousness there was some-
thing which seemed to Margaret to tell of her dislike. Near
relatives, when they are on good terms with each other, are
not gracious. Now, Mrs. Tom, though she was ever so gracious,
was by no means cordial. Susanna, however, was delighted
to see her aunt, and Margaret, when she felt the girl's arms
round her neck, declared to herself that that should suffice
for her ; — that should be her love, and it should be enough.
If indeed, in after years, she could make Jack love her too,
that would be better still. Then her mind went to work
upon a little marriage scheme that would in due time make
a baronet's wife of Susanna. It would not suit her to
become Lady Ball, but it might suit Susanna.

" We are going to have a little dinner party, to-day," said
Mrs. Tom.

" A dinner party," said Margaret, " I didn't look for that,
Sarah."

" Perhaps I ought not to call it a party, for there are only
one or two coming. There's Dr. Slumpy and his wife ; I
don't know whether you ever met Dr. Slumpy. He has
attended us for ever so long ; and there is Miss Colza, a
great friend of mine. Mademoiselle Colza I ought to call
her, because her father was a Portuguese. Only as she
never saw him, we call her Miss. And there's Mr. Rubb,
— Samuel Rubb, junior. I think you met him at
Littlebath."

MRS. TOM MACKENZIE'S DINNER PARTY. 9#

" Yes ; I know Mr. Rubb."

" That's all ; and I might as well say how it will be
now. Mr. Rubb will take you down to dinner. Tom will
take Mrs. Slumpy, and the doctor will take me. Young
Tom" — Young Tom was her son, who was now beginning
his career at Rubb and Mackenzie's — "Young Tom will
take Miss Colza, and Mary Jane and Susanna will come
down by themselves. We might have managed twelve, and
Tom did think of asking Mr. Handcock and one of the
other clerks, but he did not know whether you would have
liked it."

"I should not have minded it. That is, I should have
been very glad to meet Mr. Handcock, but I don't care
about it."

"That's just what we thought, and therefore we did not
ask him. You'll remember, won't you, that Mr. Rubb takes
you down ? "

After that Miss Mackenzie took her nieces to the Zoological
Gardens, leaving Mary Jane at home to assist her mother in
the cares for the coming festival, and thus the day wore
itself away till it was time for them to prepare themseves
for the party.

Miss Colza was the first to come. She was a young lady
somewhat older that Miss Mackenzie ; but the circumstances
of her life had induced her to retain many of the propensities
of her girlhood. She was as young looking as curls and
pink bows could make her, and was by no means a useless
guest at a small dinner party, as she could chatter like a
magpie. Her claims to be called "Mademoiselle " were not
very strong, as she had lived in Finsbury Square all her life.
Her father was connected in trade with the Rubb and
Mackenzie firm, and dealt I think, in oil. She was in-
troduced with great ceremony, and having heard that Miss
Mackenzie lived at Littlebath, went off at score about the
pleasures of that delicious place.

" I do so hate London, Miss Mackenzie."

" I lived here all my life, and I can't say I liked it."

"It is such a crowd, isn't it? and yet so dull. Give me
Brighton ! We were down for a week in November, and it
was nice."

" I never gftw Brighton."

94 MISS MACKENZIE.

" Oh, do go to Brighton. Everybody goes there now ;
you really do see the world at Brighton. Now, in London
one sees nothing."

Then came in Mr. Kubb, and Miss Colza at once turned her
attention to him. But Mr. Rubb shook Miss Colza off almost
unceremoniously, and seated himself by Miss Mackenzie.
Immediately afterwards arrived the doctor and his wife.
The doctor was a very silent man, and as Torn Mackenzie
himself was not given to much talking, it was well that Miss
Colza should be there. Mrs. Slumpy could take her share
in conversation with an effort, when duly assisted ; but
she could not lead the van, and required more sprightly aid
than her host was qualified to give her. Then there was a
whisper between Tom and Mrs. Tom, and the bell was rung,
and the dinner was ordered. Seven had been the time
named, and a quarter past seven saw the guests assembled
in the drawing-room. A very dignified person in white
cotton gloves had announced the names, and the same
dignified person had taken the order for dinner. The dignified
person had then retreated down stairs slowly, and what was
taking place for the next half-hour poor Mrs. Mackenzie, in
the agony of her mind, could not surmise. She longed to
go and see, but did not dare. Even for Dr. Slumpy, or even
for his wife, had they been alone with her she would not
have cared much. Miss Colza she could have treated with
perfect indifference, — could even have taken her down
into the kitchen with her. Rubb, her own junior partner,
was nothing, and Miss Mackenzie was simply her sister-in-
law. But together they made a party. Moreover she had
on her best and stiffest silk gown, and so armed she could
not have been effective in the kitchen. And so came a
silence for some minutes, in spite of the efforts of Miss Colza.
At last the hostess plucked up her courage to make a little
effort.

" Tom," she said, " I really think you had better ring again."

" It will be all right, soon," said Tom, considering that
upon the whole it would be better not to disturb the gentle-
man down stairs just yet.

" Upon my word, I never felt it so cold in my life as I did
to-day," he said, turning on Dr. Slumpy for the third time
with that remark.

95

"'Very cold," said Dr. Slumpy, pulling out his watch and
looking at it.

" 1 really think you'd better ring the bell," said Mrs.
Tom.

Tom, however, did not stir, and after another period of
five minutes dinner was announced. It may be as well,
perhaps, to explain that the soup had been on the table for
the last quarter of an hour or more, but that after placing
the tureen on the table, the dignified gentleman down stairs
had come to words with the cook, and had refused to go on
further with the business of the night until that ill-used
woman acceded to certain terms of his own in reference to the
manner in which the foods should be served. He had seen
the world, and had lofty ideas, and had been taught to be a
tyrant by the weakness of those among whom his life had
been spent. The cook had alleged that the dinner, as re-
garded the eating of it, would certainly be spoilt. As to
that, he had expressed a mighty indifference. If he was to
have any hand in them, things were to be done according to
certain rules, which, as he said, prevailed in the world of
fashion. The cook, who had a temper and who regarded
her mistress, stood out long and boldly, but when the house-
maid, who was to assist Mr. Grandairs up stairs, absolutely
deserted her, and sitting down began to cry, saying :
" Sairey, why don't you do as he tells you ? what signifies its
being greasy if it hain't never to go hup ? " then Sarah's
courage gave way, and Mr. Grandairs, with all the
conqueror in his bosom, announced that dinner was
served.

It was a great relief. Even Miss Colza's tongue had been
silent, and Mr. Rubb had found himself unable to carry on
any further small talk with Miss Mackenzie. The minds of
men and women become so tuned to certain positions, that
they go astray and won't act when those positions are
confused. Almost every man can talk for fifteen minutes,
standing in a drawing-room, before dinner ; but where is
the man who can do it for an hour ? It is not his appetite
that impedes him, for he could well have borne to dine at
eight instead of seven ; nor is it that matter lacks him, for
at other times his eloquence does not cease to flow so soon.
But at that special point of the day he is supposed to talk

§6 MISS MACKENZIE.

for fifteen minutes, and if any prolonged call is then made
upon him, his talking apparatus falls out of order and will
not work. You can sit still on a Sunday morning, in the
cold, on a very narrow bench, with no comfort appertaining,
and listen for half an hour to a rapid outflow of words, which,
for any purpose of instruction or edification, are absolutely
useless to you. The reading to you of the " Quaa genus," or
"As in prsesenti," could not be more uninteresting. Try to
undergo the same thing in your own house on a Wednesday
afternoon, and see where you will be. To those ladies and
gentlemen who had been assembled in Mrs. Mackenzie's
drawing-room this prolonged waiting had been as though
the length of the sermon had been doubled, or as if it
had fallen on them at some unexpected and authorised
time.

But now they descended, each gentleman taking his
allotted lady, and Colza's voice was again heard. At the
bottom of the stairs, just behind the dining-room door, stood
the tyrant, looking very great, repressing with his left hand
the housemaid who was behind him. She having observed
Sarah at the top of the kitchen stairs telegraphing for
assistance, had endeavoured to make her way to her friend
while Tom Mackenzie and Mrs. Slumpy were still upon the
stairs ; but the tyrant, though he had seen the cook's distress,
had refused and sternly kept the girl a prisoner behind him.
B.uat dinner, fiat genteel deportment.

The order of the construction of the dinner was no doubt
a la Busse ; and why should it not have been so, as Tom
Mackenzie either had or was supposed to have as much as
eight hundred a year ? But I think it must be confessed
that the architecture was in some degree composite. It was
a la Busse, because in the centre there was a green arrange-
ment of little boughs with artificial flowers fixed on them, and
because there were figs and raisins, and little dishes with dabs
of preserve on them, all around the green arrangement ; but
the soups and fish were on the table, as was also the wine,
though it was understood that no one was to be allowed to
help himself or his neighbour to the contents of the bottle.
"When Dr. Slumpy once made an attempt at the sherry,
Grandairs was down upon him instantly, although laden at
the time with both potatoes and sea-kale ; after that he went

MRS, TOM MACKENZIE'S DINNER PARTY. 9?

round and frowned at Dr. Slumpy, and Dr. Slumpy under-
stood the frown.

That the soup should be cold, everybody no doubt expected.
Ifc was clear soup. Made chiefly of Marsala, and purchased
from the pastrycook's in Store Street. Grandairs, no doubt,
knew all about it, as he was connected with the same
establishment. The fish, — Mrs. Mackenzie had feared
greatly about her fish, having necessarily trusted its fate
solely to her own cook, — was very ragged in its appear
ance, and could not be very warm ; the melted butter too
was thick and clotted, and was brought round with the
other condiments too late to be of much service ; but still
the fish was eatable, and Mrs. Mackenzie's heart, which had
sunk very low as the unconsumed soup was carried away,
rose again in her bosom. Poor woman ! she had done her
best, and it was hard that she should suffer. One little
effort she made at the moment to induce Elizabeth to carry
round the sauce, but Grandairs had at once crushed it ; he
had rushed at the girl and taken the butter-boat from her
hand. Mrs. Mackenzie had seen it all ; but what could she
do, poor soul ?

The thing was badly managed in every way. The whole
hope of conversation round the table depended on Miss Colza,
and she was deeply offended by having been torn away from
Mr. Rubb. How could she talk seated between the two
Tom Mackenzies ? From Dr. Slumpy Mrs. Mackenzie
could not get a word. Indeed, with so great a weight on her
mind, how could she be expected to make any great effort in
that direction ? But Mr. Mackenzie might have done some-
thing, and she resolved that she would tell him so before he
slept that night. She had slaved all day in order that he
might appear respectable before his own rehatives, at the
bottom of his own table, — and now he would do nothing !
" I believe he is thinking of his own dinner ! " she said to
herself. If her accusation was just his thoughts must have
been very sad.

In a quiet way Mr. Rubb did talk to his neighbour. Up
stairs he had spoken a word or two about Littlebath, saying
how glad he was that he had been there. He should always
remember Littlebath as one of the pleasantest places he had
ever seen. He wished that he lived at Littlebath • but
7

98 MISS MACKENZIE.

then what was the good of his wishing anything, knowing
as he did that he was bound for life to Rubb and Mackenzie's
counting-house !

"And you will earn your livelihood there," Miss Mac-
kenzie had replied.

" Yes ; and something more than that I hope. I don't
mind telling you, — a friend like you, — that I will either
spoil a horn or make a spoon. I won't go on in the old
groove, which hardly gives any of us salt to our porridge.
If I understand anything of English commerce, I think I
can see my way to better things than that." Then the
period of painful waiting had commenced, and he was unable
to say anything more.

That had been up stairs. Now below, amidst all the
troubles of Mrs. Mackenzie and the tyranny of Grandairs, he
began again :

" Do you like London dinner parties ? "

"I never was at one before."

" Never at one before ! I thought you had lived in London
all your life."

" So I have ; but we never used to dine out. My brother
was an invalid."

" And do they do the thing well at Littlebath ? "

" I never dined out there. You think it very odd, I dare
say, but I never was at a dinner party in my life, — not
before this."

" Don't the Balls see much company ? "

"No, very little ; none of that kind."

" Dear me. It comes so often to us here that we get tired
of it. I do, at least. I'm not always up to this kind of
thing. Champagne, — if you please. Miss Mackenzie, you
will take some champagne ? "

Now had come the crisis of the evening, the moment that
was all important, and Grandairs was making his round in
all the pride of his vocation. But Mrs. Mackenzie was by
no means so proud at the present conjuncture of affairs.
There was but one bottle of champagne. " So little wine is
drank now, that, what is the good of getting more ? Of
course the children won't have it." So she had spoken to
her husband. And who shall blame her or say where
economy ends, or where meanness begins ? She had wanted

99

no champagne herself, but had wished to treat her friends
well. She had seized a moment after Grandairs had come,
and Mrs. Slumpy was not yet there, to give instructions to
the great functionary.

" Don't mind me with the champagne, nor yet Mr. Toin,
nor the young ladies."

Thus she had reduced the number to six, and had calcu-
lated that the bottle would certainly be good for that
number, with probably a second glass for the doctor and
Mr. Rubb. But Grandairs had not condescended to be put
out of his way by such orders as these. The bottle had first
come to Miss Colza, and then Tom's glass had been filled,
and Susanna's, — through no fault of theirs, innocent bairns,
" but on purpose !" as Mrs. Mackenzie afterwards declared
to her husband when speaking of the man's iniquity. And
I think it had been done on purpose. The same thing
occurred with Mary Jane, — till Mrs. Mackenzie, looking
on, could have cried. The girl's glass was filled full, and
she did give a little shriek at last. But what availed
shrieking? When the bottle came round behind Mrs.
Mackenzie back to Dr. Slumpy, it was dry, and the
wicked wretch held the useless nozzle triumphantly over
the doctor's glass.

" Give me some sherry, then," said the doctor.

The little dishes which had been brought round after the
fish, three in number, — and they in the proper order of
things should have been spoken of before the champagne,
• — had been in their way successful. They had been so
fabricated, that all they who attempted to eat of their con-
tents became at once aware that they had got hold of some-
thing very nasty, something that could hardly have been
intended by Christian cooks as food for men ; but, neverthe-
less, there had been something of glory attending them
Little dishes require no concomitant vegetables, and there-
fore there had been no scrambling. Grandairs brought one
round after the other with much majesty, while Elizabeth
stood behind looking on in wonder. After the second little
dish Grandairs changed the plates, so that it was possible
to partake of two, a feat which was performed by Tom
Mackenzie the younger. At this period Mrs. Mackenzie,
striving hard for equanimity, attempted a word of two
7—2

100 MISS MACKENZIE.

with the doctor. But immediately upon that came the
affair of the champagne, and she was crushed, never to rise
again.

Mr. Rubb at this time had settled down into so pleasant
a little series of whispers with his neighbour, that Miss
Colza resolved once more to exert herself, not with the
praiseworthy desire of assisting her friend Mrs. Mac-
kenzie, but with malice prepense in reference to Miss
Mackenzie.

Miss Mackenzie seemed to be having " a good time M with
her neighbour Samuel Rubb, junior, and Miss Colza, who
was a woman of courage, could not see that and not make
an effort. It cannot be told here what passages there had
been between Mr. Rubb and Miss Colza. That there had
absolutely been passages I beg the reader to understand.
" Mr. Rubb," she said, stretching across the table, " do you
remember when, in this very room, we met Mr. and Mrs.
Talbot Green ? "

" Oh yes, very well," said Mr. Rubb, and then turning to
Miss Mackenzie, he went on with his little whispers.

" Mr. Rubb," continued Miss Colza, "does anybody put
you in mind of Mrs. Talbot Green? "

"Nobody in particular. She was a thin, tall, plain
woman, with red hair, wasn't she ? Who ought she to put
me in mind of? "

" Oh dear ! how can you forget so ? That wasn't her
looks at all. We all agreed that she was quite interesting-
looking. Her hair was just fair, and that was all. But I
shan't say anything more about it."

" But who do you say is like her ? "

" Miss Colza means Aunt Margaret," said Mary Jane.

" Of course I do," said Miss Colza. " But Mrs. Talbot
Green was not at all the person that Mr. Rubb has de-
scribed ; we all thought her very nice-looking. Mr. Rubb,
do you remember how you would go on talking to her, till
Mr. Talbot Green did not like it at all ? "

" No, I don't."

" Oh, but you did ; and you always do."

Then Miss Colza ceased, having finished that effort. But
she made others from time to time as long as they re-
mained in the dining-room, and by no means gave up the

MRS. TOM MACKENZIE'S DINNER PAETT. 101

battle. There are women who can fight such battles when
they have not an inch of ground on which to stand.

After the little dishes there came, of course, a saddle of
mutton, and equally of course, a pair of boiled fowls.
There was also a tongue ; but the a la Busse construction of
the dinner was maintained by keeping the tongue on the
sideboard, while the mutton and chickens were put down to
be carved in the ordinary way. The ladies all partook of
the chicken, and the gentlemen all of the mutton. The
arrangement was very tedious, as Dr. Slumpy was not as
clever with the wings of the fowls as he perhaps would have
been had he not been defrauded in the matter of the cham-
pagne ; and then every separate plate was carried away
to the sideboard with reference to the tongue. Currant
jelly had been duly provided, and, if Elizabeth had been
allowed to dispense it, might have been useful. But Grand-
airs was too much for the jelly, as he had been for the fish-
sauce, and Dr. Slumpy in vain looked up, and sighed, and
waited. A man in such a condition measures the amount
of cold which his meat may possibly endure against the
future coming of the potatoes, till he falls utterly to the
ground between two stools. So was it now with Dr.
Slumpy. He gave one last sigh as he saw the gravy
congeal upon his plate, but, nevertheless, he had finished
the unpalatable food before Grandairs had arrived to his
assistance.

Why tell of the ruin, of the maccaroni, of the fine-
coloured pyramids of shaking sweet things which nobody
would eat, and by the non-consumption of which nothing
was gained, as they all went back to the pastrycook's, — or
of the ice-puddings flavoured with onions ? It was all
misery, wretchedness, and degradation. Grandairs was
king, and Mrs. Mackenzie was the lowest of his slaves.
And why ? Why had she done this thing ? Why had she,
who, to give her due, generally held her own in her own
house pretty firmly, — why had she lowered her neck and
made a wretched thing of herself ? She knew that it would
be so when she first suggested to herself the attempt. She
did it for fashion's sake, you will say. But there was no
one there who did not as accurately know as she did herself,
how absolutely beyond fashion's way lay her way. She was

102 MISS MACKENZIE.

making no fight to enter some special portal of the world,
as a lady may do who takes a house suddenly in May Fair,
having come from God knows where. Her place in the world
was fixed, and she made no contest as to the fixing. She
hoped for no great change in the direction of society. Why
on earth did she perplex her mind and bruise her spirit, by
giving a dinner a la anything ? Why did she not have the
roast mutton alone, so that all her guests might have eaten
and have been merry ?

She could not have answered this question herself, and 1
doubt whether I can do so for her. But this I feel, that
unless the question can get itself answered, ordinary English-
men must cease to go and eat dinners at each other's houses.
The ordinary Englishman, of whom we are now speaking,
has eight hundred a year ; he lives in London ; and he has
a wife and three or four children. Had he not better give
it up and go back to his little bit of fish and his leg of
mutton ? Let him do that boldly, and he will find that we,
his friends, will come to him fast enough ; yes, and will
make a gala day of it. By Heavens, we have no gala time
of it when we go to dine with Mrs. Mackenzie a la Russe !
Lady Mackenzie, whose husband has ever so many thousands
a year, no doubt does it very well. Money, which cannot
do everything, — which, if well weighed, cannot in its
excess perhaps do much, — can do some things. It will buy
diamonds and give grand banquets. But paste diamonds,
and banquets which are only would-be grand, are among the
poorest imitations to which the world has descended.

" So you really go to Littlebath to-morrow," Mr. E-ubb
said to Miss Mackenzie, when they were again together in
the drawing-room.

"Yes, to-morrow morning. Susanna must be at school
the next day."

" Happy Susanna ! I wish I were going to school at
Littlebath. Then I sha'n't see you again before you go."

" No ; I suppose not."

" I am so sorry, because I particularly wished to speak
to you, — most particularly. I suppose I could not see you
in the morning ? But, no ; it would not do. I could not
get you alone without making such a fuss of the thing."

" Couldn't you say it now ? " asked Miss Mackenzie.

MRS. TOM MACKENZIE'S DINNER PARTT. 103

" I will, if you'll let me ; only I suppose it isn't quite the
tliing to talk about business at an evening party ; and your
sister-in-law, if she knew it, would never forgive me."

" Then she sha'n't know it, Mr. Rubb."

" Since you are so good, I think I will make bold. Carpe
diem, as we used to say at school, which means that one day
is as good as another, and if so, why not any time in the
day ? Look here, Miss Mackenzie ; — about that money,
you know."

And Mr. E/ubb got nearer to her 011 the sofa as he
whispered the word money into her ear. It immediately
struck her that her own brother Tom had said not a word to
her about the money, although they had been together for
the best part of an hour before they had gone up to
dress.

" 1 suppose Mr. Slow will settle all that," said Miss
Mackenzie.

" Of course ; — that is to say, he has nothing further to
settle just as yet. He has our bond for the money, and you
may be sure it's all right. The property is purchased, and
is ours ; — our own at this moment, thanks to you. But
landed property is so hard to convey. Perhaps you don't
understand much about that ! and I'm sure I don't. The
fact is, the title deeds at present are in other hands, a mere
matter of form ; and I want you to understand that the
mortgage is not completed for that reason."

" I suppose it will be done soon ? "

" It may, or it may not ; but that won't affect your
interest, you know."

" I was thinking of the security."

" Well, the security is not as perfect as it should be. I
tell you that honestly ; and if we were dealing with
strangers we should expect to be called on to refund. And
we should refund instantly ; — but at a great sacrifice, a
ruinous sacrifice. Now, I want you to put so much trust in
us, — in me, if I may be allowed to ask you to do so, — as to
believe that your money is substantially safe. I cannot
explain it all now ; but the benefit which you have done us
is immense."

" I suppose it will all come right, Mr. Rubb."

"It will all come right, Miss Mackenzie."

104

MISS MACKENZIE.

Then there was extracted from her something- which he
was able to take as a promise that she would not stir in the
matter for a while, but would take her interest without
asking for any security as to her principal.

The conversation was interrupted by Miss Colza, who
came and stood opposite to them.

" Well, I'm sure," she said ; " you two are very con-
fidential."

" And why shouldn't we be confidential, Miss Colza ? "
asked Mr. E-ubb.

" Oh, dear ! no reason in life, if you both like it."

Miss Mackenzie was not sure that she did like it. But
again she was not sure that she did not, when Mr. E/ubb
pressed her hand at parting, and told her that her great
kindness had been of the most material service to the firm.
" He felt it," he said, " if nobody else did." That also might
be a sacrificial duty and therefore gratifying.

The next morning she and Susanna left Gower Street
at eight, spent an interesting period of nearly an hour at
the railway station, and reached Littlebath in safety a*
one.

MISS MACKENZIE'S PHILOSOPHY, 105

CHAPTER IX.

MISS MACKENZIE'S PHILOSOPHY.

Miss MACKENZIE remained quiet in her room for two days
after her return before she went out to see anybody. These
last Christmas weeks had certainly been the most eventful
period of her life, and there was very much of which it was
necessary that she should think. She had, she thought,
made up her mind to refuse her cousin's offer ; but the deed
was not yet done. She had to think of the. mode in which
she must do it ; and she could not but remember, also, that
she might still change her mind in that matter if she
pleased. The anger produced in her by Lady Ball's claim,
as it were, to her fortune, had almost evaporated ; but the
memory of her cousin's story of his troubles was still fresh.
" I have a hard time of it sometimes, I can tell you." Those
words and others of the same kind were the arguments
which had moved her, and made her try to think that she
could love him. Then she remembered his bald head, and
the weary, careworn look about his eyes, and his little inter-
mittent talk, addressed chiefly to his mother, about the
money-market ; — little speeches made as he would sit with
the newspaper in his hand :

" The Confederate loan isn't so bad, after all. I wish I'd
taken a few."

" You know you'd never have slept if you had," Lady
Ball would answer.

All this Miss Mackenzie now turned in her mind, and
asked herself whether she could be happy in hearing
such speeches for the remainder of her life.

106 MISS MACKENZIE.

" It is not as if you two were young people, and wanted
to be billing and cooing," Lady Ball had said to her the
same evening.

Miss Mackenzie, as she thought of this, was not so sure
that Lady Ball was right. Why should she not want billing
and cooing as well as another ? It was natural that a
woman should want some of it in her life, and she had had
none of it yet. She had had a lover, certainly, but there
had been no billing and cooing with him. Nothing of
that kind had been possible in her brother Walter's house.

And then the question naturally arose to her whether her
aunt had treated her justly in bracketing her with John
Ball in that matter of age. John Ball was ten years her
senior ; and ten years, she knew, was a very proper dif-
ference between a man and his wife. She was by no means
inclined to plead, even to herself, that she was too young to
marry her cousin ; there was nothing in their ages to inter-
fere, if the match was in other respects suitable. But still,
was not he old for his age, and was not she young for hers ?
And if she should ultimately resolve to devote herself and
what she had left of youth to his children and his welfare,
should not the sacrifice be recognised ? Had Lady Ball done
well to speak of her as she certainly might well speak
of him ? Was she beyond all aptitude for billing and
cooing, if billing and cooing might chance to come in her
way?

Thinking of this during the long afternoon, when Susanna
was at school, she got up and looked at herself in the mirror.
She moved up her hair from off her ears, knowing where
she would find a few that were grey, and shaking her head,
as though owning to herself that she was old ; but as her
fingers ran almost involuntarily across her locks, her touch
told her that they were soft and silken ; and she looked into
her own eyes, and saw that they were bright ; and her hand
touched the outline of her cheek, and she knew that some-
thing of the fresh bloom of youth was still there ; and her
lips parted, and there were her white teeth ; and there came
a smile and a dimple, and a slight purpose of laughter in
her eye, and then a tear. She pulled her scarf tighter
across her bosom, feeling her own form, and then she leaned
forward and kissed herself in the glass.

MISS MACKENZIE'S PHILOSOPHY. 10?

He was very careworn, soiled as it were with the world,
tired out with the dusty, weary life's walk which he had
been compelled to take. Of romance in him there was
novhing left, while in her the aptitude for romance had only
just been born. It was not only that his head was bald, but
that his eye was dull, and his step slow. The juices of life
had been pressed out of him ; his thoughts were all of his
cares, and never of his hopes. It would be very sad to be
the wife of such a man ; it would be very sad, if there were
no compensation ; but might not the sacrificial duties give
her that atonement which she would require ? She would
fain do something with her life and her money, — some good,
some great good to some other person. If that good to
another person and billing and cooing might go together, it
would be very pleasant. But she knew there was danger
in such an idea. The billing and cooing might lead alto-
gether to evil. But there could be no doubt that she would
do good service if she married her cousin ; her money would
go to good purposes, and her care to those children would
be invaluable. They were her cousins, and would it not be
sweet to make of herself a sacrifice ?

And then . Header ! remember that she was no

saint, and that hitherto very little opportunity had been
given to her of learning to discriminate true metal from
dross. Then — she thought of Mr. Samuel Rubb, junior.
Mr. Samuel Rubb, junior, was a handsome man, about her
own age ; and she felt almost sure that Mr. Samuel Rubb,
junior, admired her. He was not worn out with life; he
was not broken with care ; he would look forward into the
world, and hope for things to come. One thing she knew
to be true ; — he was not a gentleman. But then, why should
she care for that ? The being a gentleman was not every-
thing. As for herself, might there not be strong reason to
doubt whether those who were best qualified to judge would
call her a lady ? Her surviving brother kept an oilcloth
shop, and the brother with whom she had always lived had
been so retired from the world that neither he nor she knew
anything of its ways. If love could be gained, and anything
of romance ; if some active living mode of life could thereby
be opened to her, would it not be well for her to give up that
idea of being a ladv? Hitherto her rank had simply

108 MISS MACKENZIE.

enabled her to become a Stumfoldian ; and then she re-
membered that Mr. Maguire's squint was very terrible !
How she should live, what she should do with herself, were
matters to her of painful thought; but she looked in the
glass again, and resolved that she would decline the honour
of becoming Mrs. Ball.

On the following morning she wrote her letter, and it was
written thus :

" 7, Paragon, Littlebath, January, 186 — .

" MY DEAE JOHN, — I have been thinking a great deal
about what you said to me, and I have made up my mind
that I ought not to become your wife. I know that the
honour you have proposed to me is very great, and that I
may seem to be ungrateful in declining it ; but I cannot
bring myself to feel that sort of love for you which a wife
should have for her husband. I hope this will not make
you displeased with me. It ought not to do so, as my
feelings towards you and to your children are most affec-
tionate.

" I know my aunt will be angry with me. Pray tell her
from me, with my best love, that I have thought very much
of all she said to me, and that I feel sure that I am doing
right. It is not that I should be afraid of the duties which
would fall upon me as your wife ; but that the woman who
undertakes those duties should feel for you a wife's love. I
think it is best to speak openly, and I hope that you will
not be offended.

" Give my best love to my uncle and aunt, and to the
girls, and to Jack, who will, I hope, keep his promise of
coming and seeing me.

" Your very affectionate cousin,
"MAKGAKET MACKENZIE."

" There," said John Ball to his mother, when he had
read the letter, " I knew it would be so ; and she is right.
Why should she give up her money and her comfort and her
ease, to look after my children ? "

Lady Ball took the letter and read it, and pronounced it
to be all nonsense.

MISS MACKENZIE'S PHILOSOPHY. 109

" It may be all nonsense," said her son ; " but such as it is,
it is her answer."

" I suppose you'll have to go down to Littlebath after
her," said Lady Ball.

" I certainly shall not do that. It would do no good ; and
I'm not going to persecute her."

" Persecute her ! What nonsense you men do talk !
As if any woman in her condition could be persecuted by
being asked to become a baronet's wife. I suppose I must
go down."

"I beg that you will not, mother."

" She is just one of those women who are sure to stand
off, not knowing their own minds. The best creature in the
world, and really very clever, but weak in that respect ! She
bas not had lovers when she was young, and she thinks that
a man should come dallying about her as though she were
eighteen. It only wants a little perseverance, John, and
if you'll take my advice, you'll go down to Littlebath after
her."

But John, in this matter, would not follow his mother's
advice, and declared that he would take no further steps.
" He was inclined," he said, " to think that Margaret was
right. Why should any woman burden herself with nine
children ? "

Then Lady Ball said a great deal more about the Ball
money, giving it as her decided opinion that Margaret owed
herself and her money to the Balls. As she could not
induce her son to do anything, she wrote a rejoinder to her
niece.

" My dearest Margaret," she said, " Your letter has made
both me and John very unhappy. He has set his heart
upon making you his wife, and I don't think will ever hold
up his head again if you will not consent. I write now
instead of John, because he is so much oppressed. I wish
you had remained here, because then we could have talked it
over quietly. Would it not be better for you to be here than
living alone at Littlebath ? — for I cannot call that little girl
who is at school anything of a companion. Could you not
leave her as a boarder, and come to us for a month ? You
would not be forced to pledge yourself to anything further ;
but we could talk it over."

HO MISS MACKENZIE.

It need hardly be said that Miss Mackenzie, as she read
this, declared to herself that she had no desire to talk over
her own position with Lady Ball any further.

"John is afraid," the letter went on to say, "that he
offended you by the manner of his proposition ; and that he
said too much about the children, and not enough about his
own affection. Of course he loves you dearly. If you
knew him as I do, which of course you can't as yet, though
I hope you will, you would be aware that no consideration,
either of money or about the children, would induce, him to
propose to any woman unless he loved her. You may take
my word for that."

There was a great deal more in the letter of the same
kind, in which Lady Ball pressed her own peculiar argu-
ments ; but I need hardly say that they did not prevail with
Miss Mackenzie. If the son could not induce his cousin to
marry him, the mother certainly never would do so. It did
not take her long to answer her aunt's letter. She said that
she must, with many thanks, decline for the present to return
to the Cedars, as the charge which she had taken of her
niece made her presence at Littlebath necessary. As to the
answer which she had given to John, she was afraid she
could only say that it must stand. She had felt a little
angry with Lady Ball ; and though she tried not to show
this in the tone of her letter, she did show it.

" If I were you I would never see her or speak to her
again," said Lady Ball to her son.

"Very likely I never shall," he replied.

" Has your love-making with that old maid gone wrong,
John ? " the father asked.

But John Ball was used to his father's ill nature, and
never answered it.

Nothing special to our story occurred at Littlebath during
the next two or three months, except that Miss Mackenzie be-
came more and more intimate with Miss Baker, and more and
more anxious to form an acquaintance with Miss Todd.
With all the Stumfoldians she was on terms of mitigated
friendship, and always went to Mrs. Stumfold's fortnightly
tea-drinkings. But with no lady there, — always excepting
Miss Baker, — did she find that she grew into familiarity.
With Mrs. Stumfold no one was familiar. She was afflicted

MISS MACKENZIE'S PHILOSOPHY. Ill

by the weight of her own position, as we suppose the Queen
to be, when we say that her Majesty's altitude is too high ta
admit of friendships. Mrs. Stumfold never condescended,
— except to the bishop's wife who, in return, had snubbed
Mrs. Stumfold. But living, as she did, in an atmosphere of
flattery and toadying, it was wonderful how well she pre-
served her equanimity, and how she would talk and perhaps
think of herself, as a poor, erring human being. When,
however, she insisted much upon this fact of her humanity,
the coachmaker's wife would shake her head, and at last
stamp her foot in anger, swearing that though everybody
was of course dust, and grass, and worms ; and though, of
course, Mrs. Stumfold must, by nature, be included in that
everybody ; yet dust, and grass, and worms nowhere
exhibited themselves with so few of the stains of humanity
on them as they did within the bosom of Mrs. Stumfold. So
that, though the absolute fact of Mrs. Stumfold being dust,
and grass, and worms, could not, in regard to the con-
sistency of things, be denied, yet in her dustiness, grassiness,
and worminess she was so little dusty, grassy, and wormy,
that it was hardly fair, even in herself, to mention the fact
at all.

"I know the deceit of my own heart," Mrs. Stumfold
would say.

"Of course you do, Mrs. Stumfold," the coachmaker's
wife replied. " It is dreadful deceitful, no doubt. Where's
the heart that ain't ? But there's a difference in hearts.
Your deceit isn't hard like most of 'em. You know it, Mrs.
Stumfold, and wrestle with it, and get your foot on the neck
of it, so that, as one may say, it's always being killed and
got the better of."

During these months Miss Mackenzie learned to value at
a very low rate the rank of the Stumfoldian circle into which
she had been admitted. She argued the matter with her-
self, saying that the coachbuilder's wife and others were not
ladies. In a general way she was, no doubt, bound to
assume them to be ladies ; but she taught herself to think
that such ladyhood was not of itself worth a great deal. It
would not be worth the while of any woman to abstain from
having some Mr. Bubb or the like, and from being the law-
ful mother of children in the Rubb and Mackenzie line of

112 MISS MACKENZIE.

life, for the sake of such exceptional rank as was to be
maintained by associating with the Stumfoldians. And, as
she became used to the things and persons around her, she
indulged herself in a considerable amount of social phi-
losophy, turning over ideas in her mind for which they, who
saw merely the lines of her outer life, would hardly have
given her credit. After all, what was the good of being a
lady ? Or was there any good in it at all ? Could there
possibly be any good in making a struggle to be a lady ?
"Was it not rather one of those things which are settled for
one externally, as are the colour of one's hair and the size of
one's bones, and which should be taken or left alone,
as Providence may have directed ? " One cannot add
a cubit to one's height, nor yet make one'self a lady ; " that
was the nature of Miss Mackenzie's argument with her-
self.

And, indeed, she carried the argument further than that.
It was well to be a lady. She recognised perfectly the
delicacy and worth of the article. Miss Baker was a lady
as to that there was no doubt. But, then, might it not also
be very well not to be a lady ; and might not the advantages
of the one position be compensated with equal advantages
in the other? It is a grand thing to be a queen; but a
queen has no friends. It is fine to be a princess; but a
princess has a very limited choice of husbands. There was
something about Miss Baker that was very nice ; but even
Miss Baker was very melancholy, and Miss Mackenzie could
see that that melancholy had come from wasted niceness.
Had she not been so much the lady, she might have been
more the woman. And there could be • no disgrace in not
being a lady, if such ladyhood depended on external circum-
stances arranged for one by Providence. No one blames
one's washerwoman for not being a lady. No one wishes
one's housekeeper to be a lady ; and people are dismayed,
rather than pleased, when they find that their tailors' wives
want to be ladies. What does a woman get by being a
lady ? If fortune have made her so, fortune has done much
for her. But the good things come as the natural concomi-
tants of her fortunate position. It is not because she is a
lady that she is liked by her peers and peeresses. But those
choice gifts which have made her a lady have made her also

MISS MACKENZIE'S PHILOSOPHY. 113

to be liked. It comes from the outside, and for it no struggle
can usefully be made. Such was the result of Miss Mac-
kenzie's philosophy.

One may see that all these self-inquiries tended Rubb-
wards. I do not mean that they were made with any direct
intention on her part to reconcile herself to a marriage with
Mr. Samuel Rubb, or that she even thought of such an
event as probable. He had said nothing to her to justify
such thought, and as yet she knew but very little of him.
But they all went to reconcile her to that sphere of life
which her brother Tom had chosen, and which her brother
Walter had despised. They taught her to believe that a
firm footing below was better than what might, after a life's
struggle, be found to be but a false footing above. And
they were brightened undoubtedly by an idea that some
marriage in which she could love and be loved was pos-
sible to her below, though it would hardly be possible to her
above.

Her only disputant on the subject was Miss Baker, and she
startled that lady much by the things which she said. Now,
with Miss Baker, not to be a lady was to be nothing. It
was her weakness, and I may also say her strength. Her
ladyhood was of that nature that it took no soil from outer
contact. It depended, even within her own bosom, on her
own conduct solely, and in no degree on the conduct of those
among whom she might chance to find herself. She thought
it well to pass her evenings with Mr. Stumfold's people, and
he at any rate had the manners of a gentleman. So think-
ing, she felt in no wise disgraced because the coachbuilder's
wife was a vulgar, illiterate woman. But, there were things,
not bad in themselves, which she herself would never have
done, because she was a lady. She would have broken her
heart rather than marry a man who was not a gentleman.
It was not unlady-like to eat cold mutton, and she ate it. But
she would have shuddered had she been called on to eat any
mutton with a steel fork. She had little generous ways
with her, because they were the ways of ladies, and she paid
for them from off her own back and out of her own dish.
She would not go out to tea in a street cab, because she was
a lady and alone ; but she had no objection to walk, with
her servant with her if it was dark. No wonder that
8

114

MISS MACKENZIE.

such a woman was dismayed by the philosophy of Miss
Mackenzie.

And yet they had been brought together by much that
was alike in their dispositions. Miss Mackenzie had now
been more than six months an inhabitant of Littlebath, and
six months at such places is enough for close intimacies.
They were both quiet, conscientious, kindly women, each not
without some ambition of activity, but each a little astray as
to the way in which that activity should be shown. They
were both alone in the world, and Miss Baker during the
last year or two had become painfully so from the fact of
her estrangement from her old friend Miss Todd. They
both wished to be religious, having strong faith in the need
of the comfort of religion ; but neither of them were quite
satisfied with the Stumfoldian creed. They had both, from
conscience, eschewed the vanities of the world; but with
neither was her conscience quite satisfied that such eschewal
was necessary, and each regretted to be losing pleasures
which might after all be innocent.

" If I'm to go to the bad place," Miss Todd had said to
Miss Baker. " because I like to do something that won't
hurt my old eyes of an evening, I don't see the justice of it.
As for calling it gambling, it's a falsehood, and your Mr.
Stumfold knows that as well as I do. I haven't won or lost
ten pounds in ten years, and I've no more idea of making
money by cards than I have by sweeping the chimney. Tell
me why are cards wicked? Drinking, and stealing, and
lying, and backbiting, and naughty love-making, — but
especially backbiting — backbiting — backbiting — those are
the things that the Bible says are wicked. I shall go on
playing cards, my dear, till Mr. Stumfold can send me
chapter and verse forbidding it."

Then Miss Baker, who was no doubt weak, had been un-
able to answer her, and had herself hankered after the flesh-
pots of Egypt and the delights of the unregenerated.

All these things Miss Baker and Miss Mackenzie dis-
cussed, and Miss Baker learned to love her younger friend
in spite of her heterodox philosophy. Miss Mackenzie was
going to give a tea-party, — nothing as yet having been
quite settled, as there were difficulties in the way ; but she
propounded to Miss Baker the possibility of asking Miss

115

Todd and some few of the less conspicuous Toddites. She
had her ambition, and she wished to see whether even she
might not do something to lessen the gulf which separated
those who loved the pleasures of the world in Littlebath
from the bosom of Mr. Stumfold.

" You don't know what you are going to do," Miss Baker
said.

" I'm not going to do any harm."

" That's more than you can say, my dear." Miss Baker
had learnt from Miss Todd to call her friends, " my dear."

" You are always so afraid of everything," said Miss
Mackenzie.

" Of course I am ;— one has to be afraid. A single lady
can't go about and do just as she likes, as a man can
do, or a married woman."

" I don't know about a man ; but I think a single woman
ought to be able to do more what she likes than a married
woman. Suppose Mrs. Stumfold found that I had got old
Lady Ruff to meet her, what could she do to me ? "

Old Lady Ruff was supposed to be the wickedest old card-
player in all Littlebath, and there were strange stories afloat
of the things she had done. There were Stumfoldians who
declared that she had been seen through the blinds teaching
her own maid piquet on a Sunday afternoon ; but any
horror will get itself believed now-a-days. How could they
have known that it was not beggar-my-neighbour ? But
piquet was named because it is supposed in the Stumfoldian
world to be the wickedest of all games.

"I don't suppose she'd do much," said Miss Baker ; "no
doubt she would be very much offended."

" Why shouldn't I try to convert Lady Ruff? "

" She's over eighty, my dear "

"But I suppose she's not past all hope. The older
one is the more one ought to try. But, of course, I'm
only joking about her. Would Miss Todd come if you
were to ask her ? "

" Perhaps she would, but I don't think she'd be comfort-
able ; or if she were, she'd make the others uncomfortable.
She always does exactly what she pleases."

" That's just why I think I should like her. I wish I
da^ed to do what I pleased ! We all of us are such cowards.
8—2

116 MISS MACKENZIE.

Only that I don't dare, I'd go off to Australia and marry a
sheep farmer."

" You would not like him when you'd got him ; — you'd
find him very rough."

" I shouldn't mind a bit about his being rough. I'd marry
a shoe-black to-morrow if I thought I could make him
happy, and he could make me happy."

" But it wouldn't make you happy."

" Ah ! that's just what we don't know. I sha'n't marry
a shoe-black, because I don't dare. So you think I'd better
not ask Miss Todd. Perhaps she wouldn't get on well with
Mr. Maguire."

" I had them both together once, my dear, and she made
herself quite unbearable. You've no idea what kind of
things she can say."

" I should have thought Mr. Maguire would have given
her as good as she brought," said Miss Mackenzie.

" So he did ; and then Miss Todd got up and left him,
saying out loud, before all the company, that it was not fair
for him to come and preach sermons in such a place as that.
I don't think they have ever met since."

All this made Miss Mackenzie very thoughtful. She had
thrown herself into the society of the saints, and now there
seemed to be no escape for her ; she could not be wicked
even if she wished it. Having got into her convent, and, as
it were, taken the vows of her order, she could not escape
from it.

" That Mr. Rubb that I told you of is coming down
here," she said, still speaking to Miss Baker of her party.

" Oh, dear ! will he be here when you have your friends
here?"

" That's what I intended ; but I don't think I shall ask
anybody at all. -It is so stupid always seeing the same
people."

"Mr. Rubb is— is—is— ? "

" Yes ; Mr. Rubb is a partner in my brothers'
house, and sells oilcloth, and things of that sort, and is
not by any means aristocratic. I know what you mean."

" Don't be angry with me, my dear."

" Angry ! I am not a bit angry. Why should I be angry ?
A man who keeps a shop is not, I suppose, a gentleman.

MISS MACKENZIE'S PHILOSOPHY. 117

But then, you know, I don't care about gentlemen, — about
any gentleman, or any gentlemen."

Miss Baker sighed, and then the conversation dropped.
She had always cared about gentlemen j — and once in her
life, or perhaps twice, had cared about a gentleman.

Yes ; Mr. Bubb was coming down again. He had
written to say that it was necessary that he should again
see Miss Mackenzie about the money. The next morning
after the conversation which has just been recorded, Miss
Mackenzie got another letter about the same money, of
which it will be necessary to say more in the next
chapter.

us

MISS MACKENZIE.

CHAPTER X

PLENARY ABSOLUTION.

THE letter which Miss Mackenzie received was from old
Mr. Slow, her lawyer ; and it was a very unpleasant letter.
It was so unpleasant that it made her ears tingle when she
read it and remembered that the person to whom special
allusion was made was one whom she had taught herself to
regard as her friend. Mr. Slow's letter was as follows :

" 7, Little St. Dunstan Court,

"April, 186— .

"DEAR MADAM, — I think it proper to write to you
specially, about the loan made by you to Messrs. Rubb and
Mackenzie, as the sum lent is serious, and as there has been
conduct on the part of some one which I regard as dis-
honest. I find that what we have done in the matter has
been regulated rather by the fact that you and Mr. Mac-
kenzie are brother and sister, than by the ordinary course of
such business ; and I perceive that we had special warrant
given to us for this by you in your letter of the 23rd
November last ; but, nevertheless, it is my duty to explain
to you that Messrs. Rubb and Mackenzie, or, — as I believe
to be the case, Mr. Samuel Rubb, junior, of that firm, — have
not dealt with you fairly. The money was borrowed for the
purpose of buying certain premises, and, I believe, was laid
out in that way. But it was borrowed on the special
understanding that you, as the lender, were to have the
title-deeds of that property, and the first mortgage upon
them. It was alleged, when the purchase was being

PLENARY ABSOLUTION. 119

made, that the money was wanted before the mortgage
could be effected, and you desired us to advance it. This
we did, aware of the close family connection between
yourself and one of the firm. Of course, on your instruc-
tion, we should have done this had there been no such
relationship, but in that case we should have made
further inquiry, and, probably, have ventured to advise
you. But though the money was so advanced without
the completion of the mortgage, it was advanced on the
distinct understanding that the security proffered in the
first instance was to be forthcoming without delay. We
now learn that the property is mortgaged to other parties
fco its full value, and that no security for your money is
to be had.

"I have seen both Mr. Mackenzie and Mr. Rubb,
junior. As regards your brother, I believe him to have
been innocent of any intention of the deceit, for deceit
there certainly has been. Indeed, he does not deny it.
He offers to give you any security on the business, such
as the stock-in-trade or the like, which I may advise
you to take. But such would in truth be of no avail to
you as security. He, your brother, seemed to be much
distressed by what has been done, and I was grieved on
his behalf. Mr. Rubb, — the younger Mr. Rubb, — ex-
pressed himself in a very different way. He at first
declined to discuss the matter with me; and when I told
him that if that was his way I would certainly expose him,
he altered his tone a little, expressing regret that there
should be delay as to the security, and wishing me to
understand that yon were yourself aware of all the
Pacts.

" There can be no doubt that deceit has been used to-
wards you in getting your money, an-d that Mr. Rubb has
laid himself open to proceedings which, if taken against
him, would be absolutely ruinous to him. But I fear they
would be also ruinous to your brother. It is my painful
duty to tell you that your money so advanced is on a most
precarious footing. The firm, in addition to their present
liabilities, are not worth half the money ; or, I fear I may
say, any part of it. 1 presume there is a working profit, as
two families live upon the business. Whether^ if YOU were

120 MISS MACKENZIE.

to come upon them as a creditor, you could get your money
out of their assets, I cannot say ; but you, perhaps, will not
feel yourself disposed to resort to such a measure. I have
considered it my duty to tell you all the facts, and though
your distinct authority to us to advance the money absolves
us from responsibility, I must regret that we did not make
farther inquiries before we allowed so large a sum of money
to pass out of our hands.

" I am, dear Madam,

" Your faithful servant,

" JONATHAN SLOW."

Mr. Eubb's promised visit was to take place in eight or
ten days from the date on which this letter was received.
Miss Mackenzie's ears, as I have said, tingled as she read it.
In the first place, it gave her a terrible picture of the pre-
carious state of her brother's business. What would he do,
— he with his wife, and all his children, if things were in
such a state as Mr. Slow described them ? And yet a month
or two ago he was giving champagne and iced puddings for
dinner ! And then what words that discreet old gentleman,
Mr. Slow, had spoken about Mr. Rubb, and what things he
had hinted over and above what he had spoken ! Was it not
manifest that he conceived Mr. Rubb to have been guilty of
direct fraud ?

Miss Mackenzie at once made up her mind that her
money was gone ! But, in truth, this did not much annoy
her. She had declared to herself once before that if any-
thing was wrong about the money she would regard it as a
present made to her brother ; and when so thinking of it,
she had, undoubtedly, felt that it was, not improbably, lost
to her. It was something over a hundred a year to be de-
ducted from her computed income, but she would still be
able to live at the Paragon quite as well as she had in-
tended, and be able also to educate Susanna. Indeed, she
could do this easily and still save money, and, therefore, as
regarded the probable loss, why need she be unhappy ?

Before the morning was over she had succeeded in white-
washing Mr. Rubb in her own mind. It is, I think, certainly
the fact that women are less pervious to ideas of honesty
than men are. They are less shocked by dishonesty when

PLENARY ABSOLUTION. 121

they Snd it, and are less clear in their intellect as to that
which constitutes honesty. Where is the woman who thinka
it wrong to smuggle ? What lady's conscience ever pricked
her in that she omitted the armorial bearings on her silver
forks from her tax papers ? What wife ever ceased to re-
spect her husband because he dealt dishonestly in business ?
Whereas, let him not go to church, let him drink too much
wine, let him go astray in his conversation, and her wrath
arises against these faults. But this lack of feminine accu-
racy in the matter of honesty tends rather to charity in their
judgment of others, than to deeds of fraud on the part of
women themselves.

Miss Mackenzie, who desired nothing that was not her
own, who scrupulously kept her own hands from all picking
and stealing, gave herself no peace, after reading the
lawyer's letter, till she was able to tell herself that Mr.
Rubb was to be forgiven for what he had done. After all,
he had, no doubt, intended that she should have the promised
security. And had not he himself come to her in London
and told her the whole truth ; — or, if not the whole truth, as
much of it as was reasonable to expect that he should be
able to tell her at an evening party after dinner ? Of course
Mr. Slow was hard upon him. Lawyers always were hard.
If she chose to give Messrs. Bubb and Mackenzie two thou-
sand five hundred pounds out of her pocket, what was that
to him ? So she went on, till at last she was angry with
Mr. Slow for the language he had used.

It was, however, before all things necessary that she
should put Mr. Slow right as to the facts of the case. She
had, no doubt, condoned whatever Mr. Rubb had done. Mr.
R/ubb undoubtedly had her sanction for keeping her money
without security. Therefore, by return of post, she wrote
the following short letter, which rather astonished Mr.
Slow when he received it : —

"Littlebath, April, 186—.

" DEAR SIR, — I am much obliged by your letter about the
money ; but the truth is that I have known for some time
that there was to be no mortgage. When I was in town I
saw Mr. Rubb at my brother's house, and it was understood
between us then that the matter was to remain as it

122 MISS MACKENZIE.

is. My brother and his partner are very welcome to
the money.

" Believe me to be,

" Yours sincerely,

"MARGARET MACKENZIE."

The letter was a false letter ; but I suppose Miss Mac-
kenzie did not know that she was writing falsely. The
letter was certainly false, because when she spoke of the
understanding "between us," having just mentioned her
brother and Mr. Rubb, she intended the lawyer to believe
that the understanding was between them three ; whereas,
not a word had been said about the money in her brother's
hearing, nor was he aware that his partner had spoken of
the money.

Mr. Slow was surprised and annoyed. As regarded hia
comfort as a lawyer, his client's letter was of course satis-
factory. It absolved him not only from all absolute re-
sponsibility, but also from the feeling which no doubt had
existed within his own breast, that he had in some sort
neglected the lady's interest. But, nevertheless, he was
annoyed. He did not believe the statement that Bubb and
Mackenzie had had permission to hold the money without
mortgage, and thought that neither of the partners had
themselves so conceived when he had seen them. They had,
however, been too many for him, — and too many also for
the poor female who had allowed herself to be duped out of
her money. Such were Mr. Slew's feelings on the matter,
and then he dismissed the subject from his mind.

The next day, about noon, Miss Mackenzie was startled
almost out of her propriety by the sudden announcement at
the drawing-room door of Mr. Bubb. Before she could be-
think herself how she would behave herself, or whether it
would become her to say anything of Mr. Slew's letter to
her, he was in the room.

" Miss Mackenzie," he said, hurriedly, — and yet he had
paused for a moment in his hurry till the servant had shut
the door, — " may I shake hands with you ? "

There could, Miss Mackenzie thought, be no objection to
BO ordinary a ceremony ; and, therefore, she said, " cer-
tainly," and gave him her hand.

PLENARY ABSOLUTION. 123

"Then I am myself again," said Mr. Rubb ; and having
so said, he sat down.

Miss Mackenzie hoped that there was nothing the matter
with him, and then she also sat down at a considerable
distance.

" There is nothing the matter with me," said he, " as you
are still so kind to me. But tell me, have you not received
a letter from your lawyer ? "

"Yes, I have."

" And he has done all in his power to blacken me ?
I know it. Tell me, Miss Mackenzie, has he not
blackened me ? Has he not laid things to my charge of
which I am incapable ? Has he not accused me of get-
ting money from you under false pretences ; — than do
which, I'd sooner have seen my own brains blown out ?
I would, indeed."

"He has written to me about the money, Mr. Rubb."

" Yes ; he came to me, and behaved shamefully to me ;
and he saw your brother, too, and has been making all
manner of ignominious inquiries. Those lawyers can
never understand that there can be anything of friendly
feeling about money. They can't put friendly feelings into
their unconscionable bills. I believe the world would go on
better if there was no such thing as an attorney in it. I
wonder who invented them, and why ? "

Miss Mackenzie could give him no information on this
point, and therefore he went on :

" But you must tell me what he has said, and what it is
he wants us to do. For your sake, if you ask us, Miss
Mackenzie, we'll do anything. We'll sell the coats off our
backs, if you wish it. You shall never lose one shilling by
Rubb and Mackenzie as long as I have anything to do with
the firm. But I'm sure you will excuse me if I say that we
can do nothing at the bidding of that old cormorant."

"I don't know that there's anything to be done, Mr.
Rubb."

" Is not there ? Well, it's very generous in you to say
so; and you always are generous. I've always told your
brother, since I had the honour of knowing you, that he had
a sister to be proud of. And, Miss Mackenzie, I'll say more
than that ; I've nattered myself that I've had a friend to be

124 MISS MACKENZIE.

proud of. But now I must tell you why I've come down to-
day ; you know I was to have been here next week. Well,
when Mr. Slow came to me and I found what was up, I said
to myself at once that it was right you should know exactly
— exactly — how the matter stands. I was going to explain
it next week, but I wouldn't leave you in suspense when I
knew that that lawyer was going to trouble you."

"It hasn't troubled me, Mr. Rubb."

" Hasn't it though, really ? That's so good of you again !
Now the truth is, — but it's pretty nearly just what I told
you that day after dinner, when you agreed, you know, to
what we had done."

Here he paused, as though expecting an answer.

"Yes, I did agree."

" Just at present, while certain other parties have a right
to hold the title-deeds, and I can't quite say how long
that may be, we cannot execute a mortgage in your
favour. The title-deeds represent the property. Perhaps
you don't know that."

" Oh yes, I know as much as that."

"Well then, as we haven't the title-deeds, we can't
execute the mortgage. Perhaps you'll say you ought to
have the title-deeds."

" No, Mr. Rubb, I don't want to say anything of the kind.
If my money can be of any assistance to my brother,— to
my brother and you, — you are welcome to the use of it,
without any mortgage. I will show you a copy of the letter
I sent to Mr. Slow."

" Thanks ; a thousand thanks ! and may I see the letter
which Mr. Slow wrote ? "

" No, I think not. I don't know whether it would be
right to show it to you."

" I shouldn't think of doing anything about it ; that is,
resenting it, you know. Only then we should all be on the
square together."

"I think I'd better not. Mr. Slow, when he wrote
it, probably did not mean that I should show it to
you."

" You're right ; you're always right. But you'll let me
see your answer."

Then Miss Mackenzie went to her desk, and brought him

PLENARY ABSOLUTION. 125

a copy of the note she had written to the lawyer. He read
it very carefully, twice over ; and then she could see, when
he refolded the paper, that his eyes were glittering with
satisfaction.

"Miss Mackenzie, Miss Mackenzie," he said, "I think
that you are an angel !"

And he did think so. In so much at that moment he was
at any rate sincere. She saw that he was pleased, and she
was pleased herself.

" There need be no further trouble about it," she said ;
and as she spoke she rose from her seat.

And he rose, too, and came close to her. He came close
to her, hesitated for a moment, and then, putting one hand
behind her waist, though barely touching her, he took her
hand with his other hand. She thought that he was going
to kiss her lips, and for a moment or two he thought so
too ; but either his courage failed him or else his discretion
prevailed. Whether it was the one or the other, must de-
pend on the way in which she would have taken it. As it
was, he merely raised her hand and kissed that. When she
could look into his face his eyes were fall of tears.

" The truth is," said he, " that you have saved us from
ruin ; — that's the real truth. Damn all lying ! "

She started at the oath, but in an instant she had forgiven
him that too. There was a sound of reality about it, which
reconciled her to the indignity ; though, had she been true
to her faith as a Stumfoldian, she ought at least to have
fainted at the sound.

" I hardly know what I am saying, Miss Mackenzie, and
I beg your pardon ; but the fact is you could sell us up if
you pleased. I didn't mean it when I first got your brother
to agree as to asking you for the loan ; I didn't indeed ; but
things were going wrong with us, and just at that moment
they went more wrong than ever ; and then came the
temptation, and we were able to make everything right by
giving up the title-deeds of the premises. That's how it was,
and it was I that did it. It wasn't your brother ; and
though you may forgive me, he won't."

This was all true, but how far the truth should be taken
towards palliating the deed done, I must leave the reader to
decide ; and the reader will doubtless perceive that the truth

126 MISS MACKENZIE.

did not appear until Mr. Rubb had ascertained that its ap-
pearance would not injure him. I think, however, that it
came from his heart, and that it should count for something
in his favour. The tear which he rubbed from his eye with
his hand counted very much in his favour with Miss Mac-
kenzie ; she had not only forgiven him now, but she almost
loved him for having given her something to forgive. With
many women I doubt whether there be any more effectual
way of touching their hearts than ill-using them and then
confessing it. If you wish to get the sweetest fragrance
from the herb at your feet, tread on it and bruise it.

She had forgiven him, and taken him absolutely into
favour, and he had kissed her hand, having all but embraced
her as he did so ; but on the present occasion he did not get
beyond that. He lacked the audacity to proceed at once
from the acknowledgment of his fault to a declaration of his
love ; but I hardly think that he would have injured himself
had he done so. He should have struck while the iron was
hot, and it was heated now nearly to melting ; but he was
abashed by his own position, and having something real in
his heart, having some remnant of generous feeling left
about him, he could not make such progress as he might
have done had he been cool enough to calculate all his

" Don't let it trouble you any more," Miss Mackenzie said,
when he had dropped her hand.

"But it does trouble me, and it will trouble me."

" No," she said, with energy, " it shall not ; let there be
an end of it. I will write to Tom, and tell him that he is
welcome to the money. Isn't he my brother ? You are
both welcome to it. If it has been of service to you, I am
very happy that it should be so. And now Mr. Rubb, if you
please, we won't have another word about it."

" What am I to say ? "

" Not another word."

It seemed as though he couldn't speak another word,
for he went to the window and stood there silently,
looking into the street. As he did so, there came another
visitor to Miss Mackenzie, whose ringing at the door
bell had not been noticed by them, and Miss Baker was
announced while Mr. Rubb was still getting the better of

PLENARY ABSOLUTION. 127

his feelings. Of course he turned round when he heard
the lady's name, and of course he was introduced by his
hostess. Miss Mackenzie was obliged to make some
apology for the gentleman's presence.

" Mr. Rubb was expected next week, but business brought
him down to-day unexpectedly."

" Quite unexpectedly," said Mr. Rubb, making a violent
endeavour to recover his equanimity.

Miss Baker looked at Mr. Rubb, and disliked him at
once. It should be remembered that she was twenty
years older than Miss Mackenzie, and that she regarded
the stranger, therefore, with a saner and more philoso-
phical judgment than her friend could use, — with a judgment
on which the outward comeliness of the man had no undue
influence ; and it should be remembered also that Miss
Baker, from early age, and by all the association of her
youth, had been taught to know a gentleman when she saw
him. Miss Mackenzie, who was by nature the cleverei
woman of the two, watched1 her friend's face, and saw by *
glance that she did not like Mr. Rubb, and then, within he*,
own bosom, she called her friend an old maid.

" We're having uncommonly fine weather for the time of
year," said Mr. Rubb.

" Very fine weather," said Miss Baker. " I've called, my
dear, to know whether you'll go in with me next door and
drink tea this evening ? "

" What, with Miss Todd ? " asked Miss Mackenzie, who
was surprised at the invitation.

"Yes, with Miss Todd. It is not one of her regular
nights, you know, and her set won't be there. She has some
old friends with her, — a Mr. Wilkinson, a clergyman, and his
wife. It seems that her old enemy and your devoted
slave, Mr. Maguire, knows Mr. Wilkinson, and he's going
to be there."

"Mr. Maguire is no slave of mine, Miss Baker."

" I thought he was ; at any rate his presence will be a
guarantee that Miss Todd will be on her best behaviour,
and that you needn't be afraid."

" I'm not afraid of anything of that sort."

" But will you go ? "

" Oh, yes, if you are going."

128

MISS MACKENZIE.

" That's right ; and I'll call for you as I pass by.
must see her now, and tell her. Good morning, Sir ;
whereupon Miss Baker bowed very stiffly to Mr. Rubb.

" Good morning, Ma'am," said Mr. Rubb, bowing very
stiffly to Miss Baker.

When the lady was gone, Mr. Rubb sat himself again
down on the sofa, and there he remained for the next
half-hour. He talked about the business of the firm,
saying how it would now certainly be improved ; and he
talked about Tom Mackenzie's family, saying what a
grand thing it was for Susanna to be thus taken in hand
by her aunt ; and he asked a question or two about Miss
Baker, and then a question or two about Mr. Maguire,
during which questions he learned that Mr. Maguire was
not as yet a married man; and from Mr. Maguire he
got on to the Stumfolds, and learned somewhat of the
rites and ceremonies of the Stumfoldian faith. In this way
he prolonged his visit till Miss Mackenzie began to feel that
he ought to take his leave.

Miss Baker had gone at once to Miss Todd, and had told
that lady that Miss Mackenzie would join her tea-party. She
had also told how Mr. Rubb, of the firm of Rubb and
Mackenzie, was at this moment in Miss Mackenzie's
drawing-room.

" I'll ask him to come, too," said Miss Todd.

Then Miss Baker had hesitated, and had looked

said Miss Todd.
you'll like him,"

said Miss

grave.

" What's the matter ? "

"I'm not quite sure
Baker.

" Probably not," said Miss Todd ; " I.
the people I meet, but that's no reason
him."

"But he is — that is, he is not exactly -- "

" What is he, and what is he not, exactly ? " asked Miss
Todd.

" Why he is a tradesman, you know," said Miss
Baker.

"There's no harm that I know of in that," said Miss
Todd. "My uncle that left me my money was a trades-
man."

don't like half
I shouldn't ask

PLENAK . ABSOLUTION.

129

"No," said Miss Baker, energetical lyt "he was a
merchant in Liverpool."

"You'll find it very hard to define the difference, ray
dear," said Miss Todd. " At any rate, I'll ask the man to
come ; — that is, if it won't offend you."

"It won't in the least offend me," said Miss Baker.
So a note was at once written and sent in to Miss
Mackenzie, in which she was asked to bring Mr. Rubb
with her on that evening. When the note reached Miss
Mackenzie, Mr. Rubb was still with her.

Of course she communicated to him the invitation. She
wished that it had not been sent ; she wished that he would
not accept it, — though on that head she had no doubt ; but
she had not sufficient presence of mind to keep the matter to
herself and say nothing about it. Of course he was only
too glad to drink tea with Miss Todd. Miss Mackenzie at-
tempted some slight manoeuvre to induce Mr. Rubb to go
direct to Miss Todd's house ; but he was not such an ass as
that ; he knew his advantage, and kept it, insisting on his
privilege of coming there, to Miss Mackenzie's room, and
escorting, her. He would have to escort Miss Baker also ;
and things, as he thought, were looking well with him. At
last he rose to go, but he made good use of the privilege of
parting. He held Miss Mackenzie's hand, and pressed it.

" You mustn't be angry," he said, " if I tell you that you
are the best friend I have in the world."

" You have better friends than me," she said, " and older
friends."

" Yes ; older friends ; but none, — not one, who has done
for me so much as you have ; and certainly none for whom
I have so great a regard. May God bless you, Miss
Mackenzie ! "

" May God bless you, too, Mr. Rubb ! "

What else could she say? When his civility took so
decorous a shape, she could not bear to be less civil than he
had been, or less decorous. And yet itk seemed to her
that in bidding God bless him with that warm pressure of
the hand, she had allowed to escape from her an appearance
of affection which she had not intended to exhibit.

" Thank you ; thank you," said he ; and then at last ho
went

9

MISS MACKENZIE

She seated herself slowly in her own chair near tltf
window,— the chair in which she was accustomed to sit f
many solitary hours, and asked herself what it all meant
Was she allowing herself to fall in love with Mr Rubb and
i7so, was it well that it should be so? This would be
brining to the sternest proof of reality her philosophical
theory on social life. It was all very well for her to hold a
bold opinion in discussions with Miss Baker as to a man
being a man for a' that," even though he might not be a
gentleman ; but was she prepared to go the length of pre-
ferring such a man to all the world ? Was she ready to go
down among the Rubbs, for now and ever and give up the
society of such women as Miss Baker ? She knew that it
was necessary that she should come to some resolve on t
matter, as Mr. Rubb's purpose was becoming too clear to §
her When an unmarried gentleman of forty tells an un-
married lady of thirty-six that she is the dearest friend he
has in the world, he must surely intend that they shall,
neither of them, remain unmarried any longer.
thought also of her cousin, John Ball ; and some vape
shadow of thought passed across her mind also in respec
the Rev. Mr. Maguire.

MISS TODD ENTERTAINS SOME FRIENDS. l3l

CHAPTER XI.

MISS TODD ENTERTAINS SOME FRIENDS AT TEA.

I BELIEVE that a desire to get married is the natural
Btate of a woman at the age of — say from twenty-five to
thirty-five, and I think also that it is good for the world in
general that it should be so. I am now speaking, not of the
female population at large, but of women whose position
in the world does not subject them to the necessity of earning
their bread by the labour of their hands. There is, I know,
a feeling abroad among women that this desire is one of
which it is expedient that they should become ashamed; that
it will be well for them to alter their natures in this respect,
and learn to take delight in the single state. Many of the
most worthy women of the day are now teaching this
doctrine, and are intent on showing by precept and practice
that an unmarried woman may have as sure a hold on the
world, and a position within it as ascertained, as may an
unmarried man. But I confess to an opinion that human
nature will be found to be too strong for them. Their school
of philosophy may be graced by a few zealous students, —
by students who will be subject to the personal influence
of their great masters, — but it will not be successful in
the outer world. The truth in the matter is too clear.
A woman's life is not perfect or whole till she has added
herself to a husband.

Nor is a man's life perfect or whole till he has added
to himself a wife ; but the deficiency with the man, though
perhaps more injurious to him than its counterpart is to the
9—2

182 MISS MACKENZIE.

woman, does not. to the outer eye, so manifestly unfit him
fo* his business in the world. Nor does the deficiency
make itself known to him so early in life, and therefore it
occasions less of regret, — less of regret, though probably
more of misery. It is infinitely for his advantage that ho
should be tempted to take to himself a wife ; and, there-
fore, for his sake if not for her own, the philosophic preacher
of single blessedness should break up her class-rooms, and
bid her pupils go and do as their mothers did before
them.

They may as well give up their ineffectual efforts, and
know that nature is too strong for them. The desire is
there ; and any desire which has to be repressed with an
effort, will not have itself repressed unless it be in itself
wrong. But this desire, though by no means wrong,
is generally accompanied by something of a feeling of
shame. It is not often acknowledged by the woman to
herself, and very rarely acknowledged in simple plainness
to another. Miss Mackenzie could not by any means
bring herself to own it, and yet it was there strong
within her bosom. A man situated in outer matters
as she was situated, possessed of good means, hampered by
no outer demands, would have declared to himself clearly
that it would be well for him to marry. But he would
probably be content to wait a while and would, unless in
love, feel the delay to be a luxury. But Miss Mackenzie
could not confess as much, even to herself, — could not let
herself know that she thought as much ; but yet she desired
to be married, and dreaded delay. She desired to be mar-
ried, although she was troubled by some half-formed idea
that it would be wicked. Who was she, that she should
be allowed to be in love ? Was she not an old maid by
prescription, and, as it were, by the force of ordained circum-
stances ? Had it not been made very clear to her when she
was young that she had no right to fall in love, even with
Harry Handcock ? And although in certain moments of
ecstacy, as when she kissed herself in the glass, she almost
taught herself to think that feminine charms and feminine
privileges had not been all denied to her, such was not her
permanent opinion of herself. She despised herself. Why,
she knew not j and probably did not know that she did so.

MISS TODD ENTERTAINS SOME FRIENDS. 133

But, in truth, she despised herself, thinking herself to be
too mean for a man's love.

She had been asked to marry him by her cousin Mr. Ball,
and she had almost yielded. But had she married him it
would not have been because she thought herself good enough
to be loved by him, but because she held herself to be so
insignificant that she had no right to ask for love. She would
have taken him because she could have been of use, and
because she would have felt that she had no right to de-
mand any other purpose in the world. She would have
done this, had she not been deterred by the rude offer of
other advantages which had with so much ill judgment
been made to her by her aunt.

Now, here was a lover who was not old and careworn,
who was personally agreeable to her, with whom something
of the customary romance of the world might be possible.
Should she take him ? She knew well that there were draw-
backs. Her perceptions had not missed to notice the man's
imperfections, his vulgarities, his false promises, his little
pushing ways. But why was she to expect him to be per-
fect, seeing, as she so plainly did, her own imperfections ?
As for her money, of course he wanted her money. So
had Mr. Ball wanted her money. What man on earth could
have wished to marry her unless she had had money ? It was
thus that she thought of herself. And he had robbed her '
But that she bad forgiven ; and, having forgiven it, was too
generous to count it for anything. But, nevertheless, she
was ambitious. Might there not be a better, even than
Mr. ftubb ?

Mr. Maguire squinted horribly ; so horribly that the form
and face of the man hardly left any memory of them-
selves except the memory of the squint. His dark hair,
his one perfect eye, his good figure, his expressive mouth,
were all lost in that dreadful perversion of vision. It was
a misfortune so great as to justify him in demanding that
he should be judged by different laws than those which
are used as to the conduct of the world at large. Insetting
a wife he might surely use his tongue with more freedom
than another man, seeing that his eye was so much against
him. If he were somewhat romantic in his talk, or even
more than romantic, who could find fault with him ? And

134 MISS MACKENZIE.

if he used his clerical vocation to cover the terrors of that
distorted pupil, can any woman say that he should be there-
fore condemned ? Miss Mackenzie could not forget his eye,
but she thought that she had almost brought herself to
forgive it. And, moreover, he was a gentleman, not only
by Act of Parliament, but in outward manners. Were she
to become Mrs. Maguire, Miss Baker would certainly come
to her house, and it might be given to her to rival Mrs. Stum-
fold, — in running which race she would be weighted by no
Mr. Peters.

It is true that Mr. Maguire had never asked her to marry
him, but she believed that he would ask her if she gave him
any encouragement. Now it was to come to pass, by n,
wonderful arrangement of circumstances, that she was to
meet these two gentlemen together. It might well be, that
on this very occasion, she must choose whether it should be
either or neither.

Mr. Rubb came, and she looked anxiously at his dress.
He had on bright yellow kid gloves, primrose he would
have called them, but, if there be such things as yellow
gloves, they were yellow ; and she wished that she had
the courage to ask him to take them off. This was beyond
her, and there he sat, with his gloves almost as conspciuous
as Mr. Maguire's eye. Should she, however, ever become
Mrs. Rubb, she would not find the gloves to be there per-
manently ; whereas the eye would remain. But then the
gloves were the fault of the one man, whereas the eye was
simply the misfortune of the other. And Mr. Rubb's hair
was very full of perfumed grease, and sat on each side of
his head in a conscious arrangement of waviness that was
detestable. As she looked at Mr. Rubb in all the bright,
ness of his evening costume, she began to think that she
had better not.

At last Miss Baker came, and they started off together.
Miss Mackenzie saw that Miss Baker eyed the man, and she
blushed. When they got down upon the doorstep, Samuel
Rubb, junior, absolutely offered an arm simultaneously to
each lady ! At that moment Miss Mackenzie hated him in
spite of her special theory.

" Thank you," said Miss Baker, declining the arm • " it
is only a step."

MISS TODD ENTERTAINS SOME FRIENDS. 135

Miss Mackenzie declined it also.

" Oh, of course," said Mr. Rubb. " If it's only next door
it does not signify."

Miss Todd welcomed them cordially, gloves and all. "My
dear," she said to Miss Baker, " I haven't seen you for
twenty years. Miss Mackenzie, this is very kind of you. I
hope we sha'n't do you any harm, as we are not going to be
wicked to-night."

Miss Mackenzie did not dare to say that she would have
preferred to be wicked, but that is what she would have said
if she had dared.

"Mr. Rubb, I'm very happy to see you," continued Miss
Todd, accepting her guest's hand, glove and all. " I hope
they haven't made you believe that you are going to
have any dancing, for if so, they have hoaxed you shame-
fully." Then she introduced them to Mr. and Mrs. Wil •
kinson.

Mr. Wilkinson was a plain-looking clergyman, with
a very pretty wife. "Adela," Miss Todd said to Mrs.
Wilkinson, "you used to dance, but that's all done with
now, I suppose."

" I never danced much," said the clergyman's wife, " but
have certainly given it up now, partly because I have no one
to dance with."

" Here's Mr. Rubb quite ready. He'll dance with you, I'll
be bound, if that's all."

Mr. Rubb became very red, and Miss Mackenzie, when
•?he next took courage to look at him, saw that the gloves
had disappeared.

There came also a Mr. and Mrs. Fuzzybell, and immediately
afterwards Mr. Maguire, whereupon Miss Todd declared her
party to be complete.

"Mrs. Fuzzybell, my dear, no cards!" said Miss Todd,
quite out loud, with a tragic-comic expression in her face
that was irresistible. "Mr. Fuzzybell, no cards!" Mrs.
Fuzzybell said that she was delighted to hear it. Mr.
Fuzzybell said that it did not signify. Miss Baker
stole a glance at Mr. Maguire, and shook in her shoes.
Mr. Maguire tried to look as though he had not heard
it.

" Do you play cards much here ? " asked Mr. Rubb

136 MISS MACKENZIE.

" A great deal too much, Sir," said Miss Todd, shaking her
head.

" Have you many Dissenters in your parish, Mr. Wil-
kinson ? " asked Mr. Maguire.

" A good many," said Mr. Wilkinson.

" But no Papists ? " suggested Mr. Maguire.

" No, we have no Roman Catholics."

" That is such a blessing ! " said Mr. Maguire, turning
his eyes up to Heaven in a very frightful manner. But
he had succeeded for the present in putting down Miss Todd
and her cards.

They were now summoned round the tea-table, — a genuine
tea-table at which it was expected that they should eat and
drink. Miss Mackenzie was seated next to Mr. Maguire on
one side of the table, while Mr. Rubb sat on the other
between Miss Todd and Miss Baker. While they were yet
taking their seats, and before the operations of the banquet
had commenced, Susanna entered the room. She also had
been specially invited, but she had not returned from school
in time to accompany her aunt. The young lady had to
walk round the room to shake hands with everybody, and
when she came to Mr. Rubb, was received with much
affectionate urgency. He turned round in his chair and
was loud in his praises. " Miss Mackenzie," said he, speaking
across the table, " I shall have to report in Gower Street
that Miss Susanna has become quite the lady." From that
moment Mr. Rubb had an enemy close to the object of his
affections, who was always fighting a battle against him.

Susanna had hardly gained her seat, before Mr. Maguire
seized an opportunity which he saw might soon be gone, and
sprang to his legs. " Miss Todd," said he, " may I be per-
mitted to ask a blessing ? "

" Oh, certainly," said Miss Todd ; " but I thought one
only did that at dinner."

Mr. Maguire, however, was not the man to sit down with-
out improving the occasion.

" And why not for tea also ? " said he. " Are they not
gifts alike ? "

"Very much alike," said Miss Todd, "and so is a
cake at a pastry-cook's, But we don't say grace over our
buns."

MISS TODD ENTERTAINS SOME FRIENDS. 137

" We do, in silence," said Mr. Maguire, still standing ;
u and, therefore, we ought to have it allowed here."

" I don't see the argument ; but you're very welcome."

" Thank you," said Mr. Maguire ; and then he said his
grace. He said it with much poetic emphasis, and Miss
Mackenzie, who liked any little additional excitement, thought
that Miss Todd had been wrong.

"You've a deal of society here, no doubt," said Mr,
Rubb to Miss Baker, while Miss Todd was dispensing her tea.

" I suppose it's much the same as other places," said
Miss Baker. " Those who know many people can go out
constantly if they like it."

" And it's so easy to get to know people," said Mr. Rubb.
" That's what makes ,niie like these sort of places so much.
There's no stiffness aad formality, and all that kind of
thing. Now in London, you don't know your next
neighbour, though you and he have lived there for ten
years."

"Nor here either, unless chance brings you together."

" Ah ; but there is none of that horrid decorum here,"
said Mr. Rubb. "There's nothing I hate like decorum.
It prevents people knowing each other, and being jolly
and happy together. Now, the French know more about
society than any people, and I'm told they have none of it."

" I'm sure I can't say," said Miss Baker.

" It's given up to them that they've got rid of it al-
together," said Mr. Rubb.

" Who have got rid of what ? " asked Miss Todd, who
saw that her friend was rather dismayed by the tenor of Mr.
Rubb's conversation,

"The French have got rid of decorum," said Mr.
Rubb.

"Altogether, I believe," said Miss Todd.

" Of course they have. It's given up to them that
they have. They're the people that know how to live ! "

" Yo-u'd better go and live among them, if that's your
way of thinking," said Miss Todd.

" I would at once, only for the business," said Mr. Rubb.
" If there's anything I hate, it's decorum. How pleasant it
was for me to be asked in to take tea here in this social
way ! "

138 MISS MACKENZIE.

" But I hope decorum would not have forbidden that,*1
said Miss Todd.

" I rather think it would though, in London."
"Where you're known, you mean ? " asked Miss Todd.
" I don't know that that makes any difference ; but
people don't do that sort of thing. Do they, Miss
Mackenzie ? You've lived in London most of your life,
and you ought to know."

Miss Mackenzie did not answer the appeal that was made
to her. She was watching Mr. Rubb narrowly, and knew
that he was making a fool of himself. She could perceive
also that Miss Todd would not spare him. She could for-
give Mr. Rubb for being a fool. She could forgive him for
not knowing the meaning of words, for being vulgar and
assuming ; but she could hardly bring herself to forgive
him in that he did so as her friend, and as the guest whom
she had brought thither. She did not declare to herself
that she would have nothing more to do with him, because
he was an ass ; but she almost did come to this con-
clusion, lest he should make her appear to be an ass
also.

" What is the gentleman's name ? " asked Mr. Maguire,
who, under the protection of the urn, was able to whisper
Into Miss Mackenzie's ear.
" Rubb," said she.

" Oh, Rubb ; and he comes from London ? "
" He is my brother's partner in business," said Miss
Mackenzie.

" Oh, indeed. A very worthy man, no doubt. Is he stay,
ing with — with you, Miss Mackenzie ? "

Then Miss Mackenzie had to explain that Mr. Rubb was
not staying with her ; — that he had come down about busi-
ness, and that he was staying at some inn.

" An excellent man of business, I'm sure," said Mr.
Maguire. " By-the-bye, Miss Mackenzie, if it be not im-
proper to ask, have you any share in the business ? "

Miss Mackenzie explained that she had no share in the
business ; and then blundered on, saying how Mr. Rubb
had come down to Littlebath about money transactions be-
tween her and her brother.

"Oh, indeed," said Mr. Maguire ; and before he had

MISS TODD ENTERTAINS SOME FEIENDS. lc$

done, he knew very well that Mr. Rubb had borrowed money
of Miss Mackenzie.

" Now, Mrs. Fuzzybell, what are we to do ? " said Miss
Todd, as soon as the tea-things were gone.

" Vfe shall do very well," said Mrs. Fuzzybell ; " we'll
have a little conversation."

"If we could all banish decorum, like Mr. Rubb, and
amuse ourselves, wouldn't it be nice ? I quite agree with
you, Mr. Rubb ; decorum is a great bore; it prevents our
playing cards to-night."

"As for cards, I never play cards myself," said Mr.
Rubb.

" Then, when I throw decorum overboard, it sha'n't be in
company with you, Mr. Rubb."

" We were always taught to think that cards were
objectionable."

" You were told they were the devil's books, I suppose,"
said Miss Todd.

"Mother always objected to have them in the house,"
said Mr. Rubb.

" Your mother was quite right," said Mr. Maguire ;
" and I hope that you will never forget or neglect your
parents' precepts. I'm not meaning to judge you, Miss

Todd "

. " But that's just what you are meaning to do, Mr.
Maguire."

" Not at all ; very far from it. We've all got our wicked-
nesses and imperfections."

"No, no, not you, Mr. Maguire. Mrs. Fuzzybell, you don't,
think that Mr. Maguire has any wickednesses and im-^
perfections."

" I'm sure I don't know," said Mrs. Fuzzybell, tossing her
head.

"Miss Todd," said Mr. Maguire, "when I look into my
own heart, I see well how black it is. It is full of iniquity;
it is a grievous sore that is ever running, and will not be
purified."

"Gracious me, how unpleasant ! " said Miss Todd.

" I trust that there is no one here who has not a sense of
her own wickedness."

"Or of his," said Miss Todd.

140 MISS MACKENZIE.

" Or of his," and Mr. Maguire looked very hard at Mr.
Fuzzybell. Mr. Fuzzybell was a quiet, tame old gentleman,
who followed his wife's heels about wherever she went ;
but even he, when attacked in this way, became very fierce,
and looked back at Mr. Maguire quite as severely as Mr.
Maguire looked at him.

" Or of his," continued Mr. Maguire ; " and therefore far
be it from me to think hardly of the amusements of other
people. Bat when this gentleman tells me that his excellent
parent warned him against the fascination of cards, I can-
not but ask him to remember those precepts to his dying
bed."

" I won't say what I may do later in life," said Mr.
Eubb.

" When he becomes like you and me, Mrs. Fuzzybell," said
Miss Todd.

" When one does get older," said Mr. Rubb.

" And has succeeded in throwing off all decorum," said
Miss Todd.

" How can you say such things ? " asked Miss Baker,
who was shocked by the tenor of the conversation.

" It isn't I, my dear ; it's Mr. -Rubb and Mr. Maguire,
between them. One says he has thrown off all decorum
and the other declares himself to be a mass of iniquity.
What are two poor old ladies like you and I to do in such
company ? "

Miss Mackenzie, when she heard Mr. Maguire declare
himself to be a running sore, was even more angry with
him than with Mr. Rubb. Ho, at any rate, should have
known better. After all, was not Mr. Ball better than
either of them, though his head was bald and his face worn
with that solemn, sad look of care which always pervaded
him ?

In the course of the evening she found herself seated apart
from the general company, with Mr. Maguire beside her.
The eye that did not squint was towards her, and he made
an effort to be agreeable to her that was not altogether in-
effectual.

" Does not society sometimes make you very sad ? " he said.

Society had made her sad to-night, and she answered him
in the affirmative.

MISS TODD ENTERTAINS SOME FRIENDS. 141

" It seems that people are so little desirous to make
other people happy," she replied.

" It was just that idea that was passing- through iny
own mind. Men and women are anxious to give you the
best they have, but it is in order that you may admire their
wealth or their taste ; and they strive to be witty, amusing,
and sarcastic ! but that, again, is for the eclat they are to
gain. How few really struggle to make those around them
comfortable ! "

"It comes, I suppose, from people having such diffe
tastes," said Miss Mackenzie, who, on looking round ther111^
thought that the people assembled there were pe_
ill-assorted. B****>

"As for happiness," continued Mr. Maguire uzzybell
not to be looked for from society. They \ . t)

their social hours to be happy hours will bpackeD,zie>
disappointed." or> and she

" Are you not happy at Mrs. Stumfold's ? "

"At Mrs. Stumfold's? Yes,— sometimes, said MlS3
&ven there I always seem to want something. .

kenzie, has it never occurred to you that tl'estecl Mlss
necessary in this life, the one thing, — beyond a i

next, you know, the one thing is ah, Miss^a^er> anc*

what is it ? " ,

"Perhaps you mean a competence," said lnd don*
kenzie.

" I mean some one to love," said Mr. Maguire.

As he spoke he looked with all the poetic vigour11"11111?
better eye full into Miss Mackenzie's face, and Miss ]W.
kenzie, who then could see nothing of the other eye, felt the
effect of the glance somewhat as he intended that she should
feel it. When a lady who is thinking about getting mar-
ried is asked by a gentleman who is frequently in her
thoughts whether she does not want some one to love, it
is natural that she should presume that he means to be par-
ticular ; and it is natural also that she should be in some
sort gratified by that particularity. Miss Mackenzie
was, I think, gratified, but she did not express any such
feeling.

" Is not that your idea also ? " said he ; — " some one to
love j is not that the great desideratum here below ! " And

142 MISS MACKENZIE.

the tone in which he repeated the last words was by no
means ineffective.

*' I hope everybody has that," said she.

" I fear not ; not anyone to love with a perfect love. Who
does Miss Todd love ? "

" Miss Baker."

" Does she ? And yet they live apart, and rarely see each
Bother. They think differently on all subjects. That is not
pafi love of which I am speaking. And you, Miss Mackenzie,
not ivou sure that you love anyone with that perfect all-
bed."'nglove?"

" I wve my niece Susanna best," said she.
E-ubb. niece, Susanna ! She is a sweet child, a sweet girl ;

" When ary thing to make those love her who know her ;
Miss Todd.

" When OEi't think anything amiss of Susanna, Mr.

_" And has
Miss Todd. nothing ; Heaven forbid, dear child ! And I

" How can ly of you for your generosity in adopting her."
who was shoct do less than take one of them, Mr. Maguire."

" It isn't I, int a different kind of love from that. Do you
between theur regard for your niece is sufficient to fill your
and the otf

What are 33 me very comfortable."

company ?j ? Ah ! me ; I wish I could make myself corn-
Miss T
himself tould have thought, seeing you so much in Mrs.

him thud's house "

knr^l have the greatest veneration for that woman, Miss
(LVlackenzie ! I have sometimes thought that of all the human
beings I have ever met, she is the most perfect ; she is
human, and therefore a sinner, but her sins never meet my
eyes."

Miss Mackenzie, who did not herself regard Mrs. Stumfold
as being so much better than her neighbours, could not re-
ceive this with much rapture.

"But," continued Mr. Maguire, " she is as cold — as cold—-
as cold as ice."

As the lady in question was another man's wife, this did
not seem to Miss Mackenzie to be of much consequence
to Mr. Maguire, but she allowed him to go on.

MISS TODD ENTERTAINS SOME FRIENDS. 143

" Stumfold I don't think minds it ; he is of that joyous
disposition that all things work to good for him. Even
when she's most obdurate in her sternness to him "

"Law ! Mr. Maguire, I did not think she was ever stern
to him."

"But she is, very hard. Even then I don't think ho
minds it much. But, Miss Mackenzie, that kind of com-
panion would not do for me at all. I think a woman should
be soft and soothing, like a dove."

She did not stop to think whether doves are soothing,
but she felt that the language was pretty.

Just at this moment she was summoned by Miss Baker,
and looking up she perceived that Mr. and Mrs. Fuzzybell
were already leaving the room.

" I don't know why you need disturb Miss Mackenzie,"
said Miss Todd, " she has only got to go next door, and she
seems very happy just now."

" I would sooner go with Miss Baker," said Miss
Mackenzie.

"Mr. Maguire would see you home," suggested Miss
Todd.

But Miss Mackenzie of course went with Miss Baker, and
Mr. Rubb accompanied them.

"Good-night, Mr. Rubb," said Miss Todd; "and don't
make very bad reports of us in London."

" Oh ! no ; indeed I won't."

" For though we do play cards, we still stick to decorum,
as you must have observed to-night."

At Miss Mackenzie's door there was an almost over-
powering amount of affectionate farewells. Mr. Maguire
was there as well as Mr. Rubb, and both gentlemen warmly
pressed the hand of the lady they were leaving. Mr.
Rubb was not quite satisfied with his evening's work, be-
cause he had not been able to get near to Miss Mackenzie ;
but, nevertheless, he was greatly gratified by the general
manner in which he had been received, and was much
pleased with Littlebath and its inhabitants. Mr. Maguire,
as he walked home by himself, assured himself that he
might as well now put the question ; he had been thinking
about it for the last two months, and had made up hif
mind that matrimony would be good for him.

144

MISS MACKENZIE.

Miss Mackenzie, as she went to bed, told herself that she
might have a husband if she pleased ; but then, which should
it be? Mr. Rubb's manners were very much against him;
but of Mr. Maguire's eye she had caught a gleam as he
turned from her on the door-steps, which made her think of
that alliance with dismay.

MRS. tJTUMFOLD INTERFERES, 145

CHAPTER XII,

MRS. STUMFOLD INTERFERES.

ON the morning following Miss Todd's tea-party, Mr.
Rubb called on Miss Mackenzie and bade her adieu. He
was, he said, going up to London at once, having received a
letter which made his presence there imperative. Miss
Mackenzie could, of course, do no more than simply say
good-bye to him. But when she had said so he did not even
then go at once. He was standing with his hat in hand,
and had bade her farewell ; but still he did not go. He
had something to say, and she stood there trembling, half
fearing what the nature of that something might be.

" I hope I may see you again before long," he said at
last.

" I hope you may," she replied.

" Of course I shall. After all that's come and gone, I
shall think nothing of running down, if it were only to make
a morning call."

" Pray don't do that, Mr. Rubb."

" I shall, as a matter of course. But in spite of that,
Miss Mackenzie, I can't go away without saying another
word about the money. I can't, indeed."

" There needn't be any more about that, Mr. Rubb."

" But there must be, Miss Mackenzie ; there must, indeed ;
at least, so much as this. I know I've done wrong about
that money."

" Don't talk about it. If I choose to lend it to my brotker
and you without security, there's nothing very uncommon in
that." 10

146 MISS MACKENZIE.

" No ; there ain't ; at least perhaps there ain't. Though
as far as I can see, brothers and sisters out in the world are
mostly as hard to each other where money is concerned
as other people. But the thing is, you didn't mean to lend
it without security."

" I'm quite contented as it is."

" And I did wrong about it all through ; I feel it so that
I can't tell you. I do, indeed. But I'll never rest till that
money is paid back again. I never will."

Then, having said that, he went away. When early on
the preceding evening he had put on bright yellow gloves,
making himself smart before the eyes of the lady of his
love, it must be presumed that he did so with some hope of
success. In that hope he was altogether betrayed. When
he came and confessed his fraud about the money, it must be
supposed that in doing so he felt that he was lowering him-
self in the estimation of her whom he desired to win for his
wife. But, had he only known it, he thereby took the most
efficacious step towards winning her esteem. The gloves
had been nearly fatal to him ; but those words — " I feel
it so that I can't tell you," redeemed the evil that the
gloves had done. .He went away, however, saying
nothing more then, and failing to strike while the iron was
hot.

Some six weeks after this Mrs. Stumfold called on Miss
Mackenzie, making a most important visit. But it should
be first explained, before the nature of that visit is described,
that Miss Mackenzie had twice been to Mrs. Stumfolcl's
house since the evening of Miss Todd's party, drinking tea
there on both occasions, and had twice met Mr. Maguire.
On the former occasion they two had had some conversation,
but it had been of no great moment. He had spoken
nothing then of the pleasures of love, nor had he made any
allusion to the dove-like softness of women. On the second
meeting he had seemed to keep aloof from her altogether,
and she had begun to tell herself that that dream was
over, and to scold herself for having dreamed at all ; —
when he came close up behind and whispered a word in
her ear.

" You know," he said, " how much I would wish to be
with you, but I can't now."

MRS. STUMFOLD INTERFERES. 147

She had been startled, and had turned round, and had
found herself close to his dreadful eye. She had never been
so close to it before, and it frightened her. Then again he
came to her just before she left, and spoke to her in the
same mysterious way :

" I will see you in a day or two," he said, " but never
mind now ; " and then he walked away. She had not
spoken a word to him, nor did she speak a word to him
that evening.

Miss Mackenzie had never before seen Mrs. Stumfold
since her first visit of ceremony, except in that lady's
drawing-room, and was surprised when she heard the name
announced. It was an understood thing that Mrs. Stumfold
did not call on the Stumfoldians unless she had some great
and special reason for doing so, — unless some erring sister
required admonishing, or the course of events in the life of
some Stumfoldian might demand special advice. I do not
know that any edict of this kind had actually been pro-
nounced, but Miss Mackenzie, though she had not yet been
twelve months in Littlebath, knew that this arrangement
was generally understood to exist. It was plain to be
seen by the lady's face, as she entered the room, that
some special cause had brought her now. It wore none of
those pretty smiles with which morning callers greet their
friends before they begin their first gentle attempts at
miscellaneous conversation. It was true that she gave her
hand to Miss Mackenzie, but she did even this with
austerity ; and when she seated herself, — not on the
sofa as she was invited to do, but on one of the
square, hard, straight-backed chairs, — Miss Mackenzie
knew well that pleasantness was not to be the order of
the morning.

" My dear Miss Mackenzie," said Mrs. Stumfold, " I hope
you will pardon me if I express much tender solicitude for
your welfare."

Miss Mackenzie was so astonished at this mode of address,
and at the tone in which it was uttered, that she made no
reply to it. The words themselves had in them an intention
of kindness, but the voice and look of the lady were, if
kind, at any rate not tender.

" You came among us," continued Mrs. Stumfold, " and
10—2

H8 MISS MACKENZIE.

became one of us, and we have been glad GO welcome
you."

" I'm sure I've been much obliged."

" We are always glad to welcome those who come among
us in a proper spirit. Society with me, Miss Mackenzie, is
never looked upon as an end in itself. It is only a means
to an end. No woman regards society more favourably
than I do. I think it offers to us one of the most efficacious
means of spreading true gospel teaching. With these
views I have always thought it right to open my house in a
spirit, as I hope, of humble hospitality ; — and Mr. Stumfold
is of the same opinion. Holding these views, we have been
delighted to see you among us, and, as I have said already,
to welcome you as one of us."

There was something in this so awful that Miss Mackenzie
hardly knew how to speak, or let it pass without speaking.
Having a spirit of her own she did not like being told that
she had been, as it were, sat upon and judged, and then
admitted into Mrs. Stumfold's society as a child may be
admitted into a school after an examination. And yet on
the spur of the moment she could not think what words
might be appropriate for her answer. She sat silent,
therefore, and Mrs. Stumfold again went on.

" I trust that you will acknowledge that we have shown
our good will towards you, our desiie to cultivate a
Christian friendship with you, and that you will therefore
excuse me if I ask you a question which might otherwise
have the appearance of interference. Miss Mackenzie, is
there anything between you and my husband's curate,
Mr. Maguire ? "

Miss Mackenzie's face became suddenly as red as fire, but
for a moment or two she made no answer. I do not know
whether I may as yet have succeeded in making the reader
understand the strength as. well as the weakness of my
heroine's character ; but Mrs. Stumfold had certainly not
succeeded in perceiving it. She was accustomed, probably,
to weak, obedient women, — to women who had taught them-
selves to believe that submission to Stumfoldian authority
was a sign of advanced Christianity ; and in the mild-looking,
quiet-mannered lady who had lately come among them, she
certainly did not expect to encounter a rebel. But on such

MRS. STUMFOLD INTERFERES. 149

matters as that to which the female hierarch of Littlebath
was now alluding, Miss Mackenzie was not by nature adapted
to be submissive.

" Is there anything- between you and Mr. Maguire ? " said
Mrs. Stumfold again. " I particularly wish to have a plain
answer to that question."

Miss Mackenzie, as I have said, became very red in the
face. When it was repeated, she found herself obliged to
speak. "Mrs. Stumfold, I do not know that }TOU have any
right to ask me such a question as that."

" No right ! No right to ask a lady who sits under Mr.
Stumfold whether or no she is engaged to Mr. Stumfold's
Dwn curate ! Think again of what you are saying, Miss
Mackenzie ! " And there was in Mrs. Stumfold's voice as
she spoke an expression of offended majesty, and in her
countenance a look of awful authority, sufficient no doubt to
bring most Stumfoldian ladies to their bearings.

" You said nothing about being engaged to him.'

" Oh, Miss Mackenzie ! "

" You said nothing about being engaged to him ; but if
you had I should have made the same answer. You asked
me if there was anything between me and him ; and I think
it was a very offensive question."

" Offensive ! I am afraid, Miss Mackenzie, you have not
your spirit subject to a proper control. I have come here
in all kindness to warn you against danger, and you tell me
that I am offensive ! What am I to think of you ? "

" You have no right to connect my name with any gentle-
man's. You can't have any right merely because I go to
Mr. Stumfold's church. It's quite preposterous. If I went
to Mr. Paul's church " — Mr. Paul was a very High Church
young clergyman who had wished to have candles in his
church, and of whom it was asserted that he did keep a pail
of candles on an inverted box in a closet inside his bed-
room ; — "if I went to Mr. Paul's church, might his wife, if
be had one, come and ask me all manner of questions like
that ? "

Now Mr. Paul's name stank in the nostrils of Mrs. Stum-
fold. He was to her the thing accursed. Had Miss
Mackenzie quoted the Pope, or Cardinal Wiseman, or even
Dr. Newman, it would not have been so bad. Mrs. Stum.

150 MISS MACKENZIE.

fold had once met Mr. Paul, and called him to his face the
most abject of all the slaves of the scarlet woman. To this
courtesy Mr. Paul, being a good-humoured and somewhat
sportive young man, had replied that she was another. Mrs.
Stumfold had interpreted the gentleman's meaning wrongly,
and had ever since gnashed with her teeth and fired great
guns with her eyes whenever Mr. Paul was named within
her hearing. " E/ibald ruffian," she had once said of him ;
" but that he thinks his priestly rags protect him, he would
not have dared to insult me." It was said that she had
complained to Stumfold ; but Mr. Stumfold's sacerdotal
clothing, whether ragged or whole, prevented him also from
interfering, and nothing further of a personal nature had
occurred between the opponents.

But Miss Mackenzie, who certainly was a Stumfoldian by
her own choice, should not have used the name. She
probably did not know the whole truth as to that passage
of arms between Mr. Paul and Mrs. Stumfold, but she did
know that no name in Littlebath was so odious to the lady
as that of the rival clergyman.

" Very well, Miss Mackenzie," said she, speaking loudly
in her wrath ; " then let me tell you that you will come by
your ruin ; — yes, by your ruin. You poor unfortunate
woman, you are unfit to guide your own steps, and will not
take counsel from those who are able to put you in the right
way ! "

"How shall I be ruined ? " said Miss Mackenzie, jumping
up from her seat.

" How ? Yes. Now you want to know. After having
insulted me in return for my kindness in coming to you, you
ask me questions. If I tell you how, no doubt you will
insult me again."

<: I haven't insulted you, Mrs. Stumfold. And if you don't
like to tell me, you needn't. I'm sure I did not want you to
come to me and talk in this way."

" Want me ! Who ever does want to be reproved for
their own folly ? I suppose what you want is to go on and
marry that man, who may have two or three other wives for
what you know, and put yourself and your money into the
hands of a person whom you never saw in your life above a
few months ago, and of whose former life you literally know .

MRS. STUMFOLD INTERFERES. 151

nothing. Tell the truth, Miss Mackenzie, isn't that what
you desire to do ? "

" I find him acting as Mr. Stumfold's curate."

" Yes ; and when I come to warn you, you insult me. He
is Mr. Stumfold's curate, and in many respects he is well
fitted for his office."

"But has he two or three wives already, Mrs. Stum-
fold ? "

" I never said that he had."

" I thought you hinted it."

" I never hinted it, Miss Mackenzie. If you would only
be a little more careful in the things which you allow your-
self to say, it would be better for yourself; and better for
me too, while I am with you."

" I declare you said something about two or three wives ;
and if there is anything of that kind true of a gentleman and
a clergyman, I don't think he ought to be allowed to go
about as a single gentleman. I mean as a curate. Mr.
Maguire is nothing to me, — nothing whatever j and I don't
see why I should have been mixed up with him ; but if
there is anything of that sort "

" But there isn't."

"Then, Mrs. Stumfold, I don't think you ought to have
mentioned two or three wives. I don't, indeed. It is such
a horrid idea, — quite horrid ! And I suppose, after all, the
poor man has not got one ? "

" If you had allowed me, I should have told you all, Miss
Mackenzie. Mr. Maguire is not married, and never has
been married, as far as I know."

"Then I do think what you said of him was very
cruel."

" I said nothing ; as you would have known, only you
are so hot. Miss Mackenzie, you quite astonish me ; you
do, indeed. I had expected to find you temperate and
calm ; instead of that, you are so impetuous, €hat you
will not listen to a word. When it first came to my ears
that there might be something between you and Mr.
Maguire "

" I will not be told about something. What does some-
thing mean, Mrs. Stumfold ? "

"When I was told of this," continued Mrs. Stumfold,

152 MISS MACKENZIE.

determined that she would not be stopped any longer by
Miss Mackenzie's energy ; " when I was told of this, and,
indeed, I may say saw it "

" You never saw anything, Mrs. Stumfold."

" I immediately perceived that it was my duty to come to
you ; to come to you and tell you that another lady has a
prior claim upon Mr. Maguire's hand and heart."

" Oh, indeed."

" Another young lady," — with an emphasis on the word
young, — " whom he first met at my house., who was in-
troduced to him by me, — a young lady not above thirty
years of age, and quite suitable in every way to be Mr.
Maguire's wife. She may not have quite so much money as
you ; but she has a fair provision, and money is not every-
thing ; a lady in every way suitable "

" But is this suitable young lady, who is only thirty years
of age, engaged to him ? "

" I presume, Miss Mackenzie, that in speaking to you, I
am speaking to a lady who would not wish to interfere with
another lady who has been before her. I do hope that you
cannot be indifferent to the ordinary feelings of a female
Christian on that subject. What would you think if you
were interfered with, though, perhaps, as you had not your
fortune in early life, you may never have known what that
was."

This was too much even for Miss Mackenzie.

" Mrs. Stumfold," she said, again rising from her seat, " I
won't talk about this any more with you. Mr. Maguire is
nothing to me ; and, as far as I can see, if he was, that
would be nothing to you."

" But it would ; — a great deal."

" No, it wouldn't. You may say what you like to him,
though, for the matter of that, I think it a very indelicate
thing for a lady to go about raising such questions at all.
But perhaps you have known him a long time, and I have
nothing to do with what you and he choose to talk
about. If he is behaving bad to any friend of yours, go
and tell him so. As for me, I won't hear anything more
about it."

As Miss Mackenzie continued to stand, Mrs. Stumfold was
forced to stand also, and soon afterwards found herself

MRS. STUMFOLD INTERFERES. 153

compelled to go away. She had, indeed, said all that she
had come to say, and though she would willingly have
repeated it again had Miss Mackenzie been submissive, she
did not find herself encouraged to do so by the rebellious
nature of the lady she was visiting.

" I have meant well, Miss Mackenzie/' she said as she
took her leave, " and I hope that I shall see you just the
same as ever on my Thursdays."

To this Miss Mackenzie made answer only by a curtsey,
and then Mrs. Stumfold went her way.

Miss Mackenzie, as soon as she was left to herself, began
to cry. If Mrs. Stumfold could have seen her, how it would
have soothed and rejoiced that lady's ruffled spirit ! Miss
Mackenzie would sooner have died than have wept in Mrs.
Stumfold's presence, but no sooner was the front door closed
than she began. To have been attacked at all in that way
would have been too much for her, but to have been called
old and unsuitable, — for that was, in truth, the case ; to hear
herself accused of being courted solely for her money, and
that when in truth she had not been courted at all ; to
have been informed that a lover for her must have been
impossible in those days when she had no money ! — was not
all this enough to make her cry ? And then, was it the
truth that Mr. Maguire ought to marry some one else ?
If so, she was the last woman in Littlebath to interfere
between him and that other one. But how was she to know
that this was not some villany on the part of Mrs.
Stumfold ? She felt sure, after what she had now seen
and heard, that nothing in that way would be too bad for
Mrs. Stumfold to say or do. She never would go to Mrs.
Stumfold's house again ; that was a matter of course ;
but what should she do about Mr. Maguire ? Mr. Maguire
might never speak to her in the way of affection, — probably
never would do so; that she could bear; but how was
she to bear the fact that every Stumfoldian in Littlebath
would know all about it ? On one thing she finally resolved,
that if ever Mr. Maguire spoke to her on the subject, she
would tell him everything that had occurred. After that
she cried herself to sleep.

On that afternoon she felt herself to be very desolate
and much in want of a friend. When Susanna came back

154 MISS MACKENZIE.

from school in the evening she was almost more desolate
than before. She could say nothing of her troubles to cne
so young, nor yet could she shake off the thought of them.
She had been bold enough while Mrs. Stumfold had been
with her, but now that she was alone, or almost worse
than alone, having Susanna with her, — now that the reaction
had come, she began to tell herself that a continuation of
this solitary life would be impossible to her. How was
she to live if she was to be trampled upon in this way?
Was it not almost necessary that she should leave Little-
bath ? And yet if she were to leave Littlebath, whither
should she go, and how should she muster courage to
begin everything over again ? If only it had been given
her to have one friend, — one female friend to whom she
could have told everything ! She thought of Miss Baker,
but Miss Baker was a staunch Stumfoldian ; and what did
she know of Miss Baker that gave her any right to
trouble Miss Baker on such a subject ? She would almost
rather have gone to Miss Todd, if she had dared.

She laid awake crying half the night. Nothing of the
kind had ever occurred to her before. No one had ever
accused her of any impropriety ; no one had ever thrown it
in her teeth that she was longing after fruit that ought to
be forbidden to her. In her former obscurity and dependence
she had been safe. Now that she had begun to look about
her and hope for joy in the world, she had fallen into this
terrible misfortune ! Would it not have been better for her
to have married her cousin John Ball, and thus have had a
clear course of duty marked out for her ? Would it not
have been better for her even to have married Harry Hand-
cock than to have come to this misery ? What good would
her money do her, if the world was to treat her in this
way ?

And then, was it true ? Was it the fact that Mr. Maguii
was ill-treating some other woman in order that he might
get her money ? In all her misery she remembered that
Mrs. Stumfold would not commit herself to any such direci
assertion, and she remembered also that Mrs. Stumfold had
especially insisted on her own part of the grievance, — 011 th(
fact that the suitable young lady had been met by Mr.
Maguire in her drawing-room. As to Mr. Maguire himself,

MRS. STUMFOLD INTERFERES. 155

she could reconcile herself to the loss of him. Indeed sha
had never yet reconciled herself to the idea :*f taking hii,\
But she could not endure to think that Mrs. Stumfold1;.
interference should prevail, or, worse still, that other people
should have supposed it to prevail.

The next day was Thursday, — one of Mrs. Stumfold's
Thursdays, — and in the course of the morning Miss Baker
came to her, supposing that, as a matter of course, she
would go to the meeting.

" Not to-night, Miss Baker," said she.

" Not going ! and why not ? "

" I'd rather not go out to-night."

" Dear me, how odd. I thought you always went to Mrs.
Stumfold's. There's nothing wrong I hope ? "

Then Miss Mackenzie could not restrain herself, and told
Miss Baker everything. And she told her story, not with
whines and lamentations, as she had thought of it herself
while lying awake during the past night, but with spirited
indignation. " What right had she to come to me and
accuse me ? "

" I suppose she meant it for the best," said Miss
Baker.

"No, Miss Baker, she meant it for the worst. I am
sorry to .^eak so of your friend, but I must speak as I
find her. She intended to insult me. Why did she tell
me of my age and my money ? Have I made myself out
to be young ? or misbehaved myself with the means
which Providence has given me ? And as to the gentle-
man, have I ever conducted myself so as to merit re-
proach ? I don't know that I was ever ten minutes in
his company that you were not there also."

" It was the last accusation I should have brought against
you," whimpered Miss Baker.

" Then why has she treated me in this way ? What
right have I given her to be my adviser, because I go to
her husband's church ? Mr. Maguire is my friend, and
it might have come to that, that he should be my
husband. Is there any sin in that, that I should be
rebuked ? "

" It was for the other lady's sake, perhaps."

"Then let her go to the other lady, or to him. She

156 MISS MACKENZIE.

has forgotten herself in coming to me, and she shall know
that I think so."

Miss Baker, when she left the Paragon, felt for Miss
Mackenzie more of respect and more of esteem also than
she had ever felt before. But Miss Mackenzie, when she
was left alone, went up stairs, threw herself on her bed,
and was again dissolved in tears.

MR. MAGHIIRE'S COURTSHIP, 157

CHAPTER XIIL

ME. MAGUIRE'S COURTSHIP.

AFTER the scene between Miss Mackenzie and Miss Baker
more than a week passed by before Miss Mackenzie saw any
of her Littlebath friends ; or, as she called them with much
sadness when speaking of them to herself, 'her Littlebath
acquaintances. Friends, or friend, she had none. It was a
slow, heavy week with her, and it is hardly too much to say
that every hour in ifc was spent in thinking of the attack
which Mrs. Stumfold had made upon her. When the first
Sunday came, she went to church, and saw there Miss Baker,
and Mrs. Stumfold, and Mr. Stumfold and Mr. Maguire.
She saw, indeed, many Stumfoldians, but it seemed that
their eyes looked at her harshly, and she was quite sure that
the coachmaker's wife treated her with marked incivility as
they left the porch together. Miss Baker had frequently
waited for her on Sunday mornings, and walked the length
of two streets with her ; but she encountered no Miss Baker
near the church gate on this morning, and she was sure that
Mrs. Stumfold had prevailed against her. If it was to be
thus with her, had she not better leave Littlebath as soon
as possible ? In the same solitude she lived the whole of
the next week ; with the same feelings did she go to church
on the next Sunday ; and then again was she maltreated by
the up-turned nose and half-averted eyes of the coachmaker's
wife.

Life such as this would be impossible to her. Let any of
my readers think of it, and then tell themselves whether it
could be possible. Mariana's solitude in the moated grange

158 MISS MACKENZIE.

was as nothing- to hers. In granges, and such like rural
retreats, people expect solitude ; but Miss Mackenzie had
gone to Littlebath to find companionship. Had she been
utterly disappointed, and found none, that would have been
bad ; but she had found it and then lost it. Mariana, in her
desolateness was still waiting for the coming of some one ;
and so was Miss Mackenzie waiting, though she hardly knew
for whom. For me, if I am to live in a moated grange, let
it be in the country. Moated granges in the midst of
populous towns are very terrible.

But on the Monday morning, — the morning of the second
Monday after the Stumfoldian attack, — Mr. Maguire came,
and Mariana's weariness was, for the time, at an end.
Susanna had hardly gone, and the breakfast things were
still on the table, when the maid brought her up word that
Mr. Maguire was below, and would see her if she would
allow him to come up. She had heard no ring at the bell,
and having settled herself with a novel in the arm-chair, had
almost ceased for the moment to think of Mr. Maguire or of
Mrs. Stumfold. There was something so sudden in the
request now made to her, that it took away her breath.

" Mr. Maguire, Miss, the clergyman from Mr. Stumfold's
church," said the girl again.

It was necessary that she should give an answer, though
she was ever so breathless.

" Ask Mr. Maguire to walk up," she said ; and then she
began to bethink herself how she would behave to him.

He was there, however, before her thoughts were of much
service to her, and she began by apologising for the break-
fast things.

" It is I that ought to beg your pardon for coming so
early," said he ; " but my time at present is so occupied that
I hardly know how to find half an hour for myself; and I
thought you would excuse me."

" Oh, certainly," said she ; and then sitting down, she
waited for him to begin.

It would have been clear to any observer, had there been
one present, that Mr. Maguire had practised his lesson.
He could not rid himself of those unmistakable signs of
preparation which every speaker shows when he has been
guilty of them. But this probably did not matter with

159

Miss Mackenzie, who was too intent on the part she herself
had to play to notice his imperfections.

" I saw that you observed, Miss Mackenzie," he said, " that
I kept aloof from you on the two last evenings on which I
met you at Mrs. Stumfold's."

" That's a long time ago, Mr. Maguire," she answered.
" It's nearly a month since I went to Mrs. Stumfold'a
house."

" I know that you were not there on the last Thursday.
I noticed it. I could not fail to notice it. Thinking so
much of you as I do, of course I did notice it. Might I ask
you why you did not go ? "

" I'd rather not say anything about it," she replied, aftei
a pause.

" Then there has been some reason ? Dear Miss Mac-
kenzie, I can assure you I do not ask you without a
cause."

" If you please, I will not speak upon that subject. I had
much rather not, indeed, Mr. Maguire."

" And shall I not have the pleasure of seeing you there on
next Thursday ? "

" Certainly not."

" Then you have quarrelled with her, Miss Mac-
kenzie ? "

He said nothing now of the perfections of that excellent
woman, of whom not long since he had spoken in terms
almost too strong for any simple human virtues.

" I'd rather not speak of it. It can't do any good. I
don't know why you should ask me whether 1 intend to
go there any more, but as you have, I have answered
you.

Then Mr. Maguire got up from his chair, and walked
about the room, and Miss Mackenzie, watching him closely,
could see that he was mvch moved. But, nevertheless, I
think he had made up h mind to walk about the room
beforehand. After a while he paused, and, still standing,
spoke to her again across the table.

" May I ask you this question ? Has Mrs. Stumfold said
anything to you about me ? "

" I'd rather not talk about Mrs. Stumfcld."

" But, surely, I may ask that. I don't think you are the

160 MISS MACKENZIE.

woman to allow anything said behind a person's back to be
received to his detriment."

" Whatever one does hear about people one always hears
behind their backs."

" Then she has told you something, and you have believed
it?"

She felt herself to be so driven by him that she did not
know how to protect herself. It seemed to her that these
clerical people of Littlebath had very little regard for the
feelings of others in their modes of following their own
pursuits.

" She has told you something of me, and you have believed
her ? " repeated Mr. Maguire. " Have I not a right to ask
you what she has said ? "

" You have no right fco ask me anything."

" Have I not, Miss Mackenzie ? Surely that is hard. Is
it not hard that I should be stabbed in the dark, and have
no means of redressing myself ? I did not expect such an
answer from you ; — indeed I did not."

" And is not it hard that I should be troubled in this way ?
You talk of stabbing. Who has stabbed you ? Is it not
your own particular friend, whom you described to me as the
best person in all the world ? If you and she fall out why
should I be brought into it ? Once for all, Mr. Maguire, I
won't be brought into it."

Now he sat down and again paused before he went on
with his task.

"Miss Mackenzie," he said, when he did speak, "I had
not intended to be so abrupt as I fear you will think me in
that which I am about to say j but I believe you will like
plain measures best."

" Certainly I shall, Mr. Maguire."

" They are the best, always. If, then, I am plain with you,
will you be plain with me also ? I think you must guesa
what it is I have to say to you."

" I hate guessing anything, Mr. Maguire."

" Very well ; then I will be plain. We have now known
each other for nearly a year, Miss Mackenzie."

"A year, is it ? No, not a year. This is the beginning
of June, and I did not come here till the end of last
August. It's about nine months, Mr. Maguire,"

MB. MAGUIRE'S COURTSHIP. lf>l

" Very well ; nine months. Nine months may be as
nothing in an acquaintance, or it may lead to the closest
friendship."

" I don't know that we have met so very often. You have
the parish to attend to, Mr. Maguire."

" Of course I have ; — or rather I had, for I have left Mr.
Stumfold."

" Left Mr. Stumfold ! Why, I heard you preach yester-
day."

"I did preach yesterday, and shall till he has got another
assistant. But he and I are parted as regards all friendly
connection."

"But isn't that a pity?"

uMies Mackenzie, I don't mind telling you that I have
found it impossible to put up with the impertinence of that
woman ; " — and now, as he spoke, there came a distorted
fire out of his imperfect eye ; — " impossible ! If you knew
what I have gone through in attempting it ! But that's
over. I have the greatest respect for him in the world ; a
very thorough esteem. He is a hard-working man, and
though I do not always approve the style of his wit, — of
which, by- the- bye, he thinks too much himself, — still I
acknowledge him to be a good spiritual pastor. But he has
been unfortunate in his marriage. No doubt he has got
money, but money is not everything."
"Indeed, it is not, Mr. Maguire."

" How he can live in the same house with that Mr.
Peters, I can never understand. The quarrels between him
and his daughter are so incessant that poor Mr. Stumfold is
unable to conceal them from the public."
" But you have spoken so highly of her."
"I have endeavoured, Miss Mackenzie, — I have en-
deavoured to think well of her. I have striven to believe
that it was all gold that I saw. But let that pass. I was
forced to tell you that I am going to leave Mr. Stumf bid's
church, or I should not now have spoken about her or him.
And now comes the question, Miss Mackenzie."
" What is the question, Mr. Maguire ? "
"Miss Mackenzie, — Margaret, will you share your lot
with mine ? It is true that you have money. It is true
that I have none, — not even a curacy now. But I don't
11

162 MISS MACKENZIE.

think that any such consideration as that would weigh with
you for a moment, if you can find it in your heart to love
me."

Miss Mackenzie sat thinking for some minutes before she
gave her answer, — or striving to think ; but she was so
completely under the terrible fire of his eye, that any
thought was very difficult.

" I am not quite sure about that," she said after a while.
" I think, Mr. Maguire, that there should be a little money
on both sides. " You would hardly wish to live altogether
on your wife's fortune."

" I have my profession," he replied, quickly.

" Yes, certainly ; and a noble profession it is ; — the most
noble," said she.

" Yes, indeed ; the most noble."

" But somehow "

" You mean the clergymen are not paid as they should be.
No, they are not, Miss Mackenzie. And is it not a shame for
a Christian country like this that it should be so ? But
still, as a profession, it has its value. Look at Mrs.
Stumfold ; where would she be if she were not a clergy-
man's wife ? The position has its value, A clergman's wife
is received everywhere, you know."

" A man before he talks of marriage ought to have some-
thing of his own, Mr. Maguire, besides "

" Besides what ? "

" Well, I'll tell you. As you have done me this honour, I
think that I am now bound to tell you what Mrs. Stumfold
said to me. She had no right to connect my name with
yours or with that of any other gentleman, and my quarrel
with her is about that. As to what she said about you,
that is your affair and not mine."

Then she told him the whole of that conversation which
was given in the last chapter, not indeed repeating the hint
about the three or four wives, but recapitulating as clearly as
she could all that had been said about the suitable young
lady.

" I knew it," said he ; "I knew it. I knew it as well as
though I had heard it. Now what am I to think of that
woman, Miss Mackenzie ? "

" Of which woman ? "

MR.

163

" Of Mrs. Stumfold, of course. It's all jealousy : every
bit of it jealousy."

"Jealousy ! Do you mean that she — that she "

"Not jealousy of that kind, Miss Mackenzie. Oh dear,
no. She's as pure as the undriven snow, I should say, as
far as that goes. But she can't bear to think that I should
rise in the world."

" I thought she wanted to marry you to a suitable lady,
and young, with a fair provision."

" Pshaw ! The lady has about seventy pounds a-year ! But
that would signify nothing if I loved her, Miss
Mackenzie."

" There has been something, then ? "

" Yes ; there has been something. That is, nothing of my
doing; — nothing on earth. Miss Mackenzie, I am as
innocent as the babe unborn."

As he said this she could not help looking into the
horrors of his eyes, and thinking that innocent was not the
word for him.

" I'm as innocent as the babe unborn. Why should I be
expected to marry a lady merely because Mrs. Stumfold tells
me that there she is ? And it's my belief that old Peters has
got their money somewhere, and won't give it up, and that
that's the reason of it."

" But did you ever say you would marry her ? "

" What ! Miss Floss, never ! I'll tell you the whole
story, Miss Mackenzie ; and if you want to ask any one else,
you can ask Mrs. Perch." Mrs. Perch was the coach-
builder's wife. " You've seen Miss Floss at Mrs. Stumfold'Sj
and must know yourself whether I ever noticed her any
more than to be decently civil."

" Is she the lady that's so thin and tall ? "

"Yes."

"With the red hair?"

"Well, its sandv, certainly. I shouldn't call it just red
myself."

" Some people like red hair, you know," said Miss
Mackenzie, thinking of the suitable lady. Miss Mackenzie
was willing at that moment to forfeit all her fortune if Hiss
Floss was not older than she was !

"And that is Miss Floss, is it ? "
11—2

164 MISS MACKENZIE.

" Yes, and I don't blame Mrs. Stumfold for wishing1 to
get a husband for her friend, but it is hard upon me."

"Really, Mr. Maguire, I think that perhaps you couldn't
do better."

" Better than what ? "

" Better than take Miss Floss. As- you say, some people
like red hair. And she is very suitable, certainly. And,
Mr. Maguire, 1 really shouldn't like to interfere ; — I
shouldn't indeed."

"Miss Mackenzie, you're joking, I know."

"Not in the least, Mr. Maguire. You see there has been
something about it."

" There has been nothing."

" There's never smoke without fire ; and I don't think a
lady like Mrs. Stumfold would come here and tell me all
that she did, if it hadn't gone some way. And you owned
just now that you admired her."

" I never owned anything of the kind. I don't admire
her a bit. Admire her ! Oh, Miss Mackenzie, what do you
think of me ? "

Miss Mackenzie said that she really didn't know what to
think.

Then, having as he thought altogether disposed of Miss
Floss, he began again to press his suit. And she was weak ;
for though she gave him no positive encouragement, neither
did she give him any positive denial. Her mind was by no
means made up, and she did not know whether she wished
to take him or to leave him. Now" that the thing had come
so near, what guarantee had she that he would be good to
her if she gave him everything that she possessed ? As to
her cousin John Ball, she would have had many guarantees.
Of him she could say that she knew what sort of a man he
was ; but what did she know of Mr. Maguire ? At that
moment, as he sat there pleading his own cause with all the
eloquence at his command, she remembered that she did not
even know his Christian name. He had always in her
presence been called Mr. Maguire. How could she say that
she loved a man whose very name she had not as yet
heard ?

But still, if she left all her chances to run from her, what
other fate would she have but that of being friendless all her

MR. MAGUIRE'S COURTSHIP. 165

life ? Of course she must risk much if she was ever minded to
change her mode of life. She had said something to him as
to the expediency of there being money on both sides, but as
she said it she knew that she would willingly have given up
her money could she only have been sure of her man. Was
not her income enough for both ? What she wanted was
companionship, and love if it might be possible ; but if not
love, then friendship. This, had she known where she could
purchase it with certainty, she would willingly have pur-
chased with all her wealth.

" If I have surprised you, will you say that you will take
time to think of it ? " pleaded Mr. Maguire.

Miss Mackenzie, speaking in the lowest possible voice, said
that she would take time to think of it.

When a lady says that she will take time to think o" -uch
a proposition, the gentleman is generally justified in SL yos-
ing that he has carried his cause. When a lady rejects a
suitor, she should reject him peremptorily. Anything short
of such peremptory rejection is taken for acquiescence. Mr.
Maguire consequently was elated, called her Margaret, and
swore that he loved her as he had never loved woman

yet.

" And when may I come again ? " he asked.

Miss Mackenzie begged that she might be allowed a fort-
night to think of it.

" Certainly," said the happy man.

"And you must not be surprised," said Miss Mackenzie,
" if I make some inquiry about Miss Floss."

" Any inquiry you please," said Mr. Maguire. " It is all
in that woman's brain ; it is indeed. Miss Floss, perhaps,
has thought of it ; but I can't help that, can I ? I can't
help what has been said to her. But if you mean anything
as to a promise from me, Margaret, on my word as a
Christian minister of the Gospel, there has been nothing of
the kind."

She did not much mind his calling her Margaret ; it was
in itself such a trifle ; but when he made a fuss about kissing
her hand it annoyed her.

" Only your hand," he said, beseeching the privilege.

"Pshaw," she said, "what's the good ? "

She had sense enough to feel that with such love-making

166 MISS MACKENZIE.

as that between her and her lover there should be no kissing
till after marriage ; or at any rate, no kissing of hands, as
is done between handsome young men of twenty- three and
beautiful young ladies of eighteen, when they sit in balconies
on moonlight nights. A good honest kiss, mouth to mouth,
might not be amiss when matters were altogether settled ;
but when she thought of this, she thought also of his eye
and shuddered. His eye was not his fault, and a man
should not be left all his days without a wife because he
squints ; but still, was it possible ? could she bring herself
to endure it ?

He did kiss her hand, however, and then went. As
he stood at the door he looked back fondly and ex-
claimed—

jjr 1'n Monday fortnight, Margaret ; on Monday fort,
nigt s."

"Goodness gracious, Mr. Maguire," she answered, "do
shut the door ; " and then he vanished.

As soon as he was gone she remembered that his name
was Jeremiah. She did not know how she had learned it,
but she knew that such was the fact. If it did come to pass
how was she to call him ? She tried the entire word
Jeremiah, but it did not seem to answer. She tried Jerry
also, but that was worse. Jerry might have been very
well had they come together fifteen years earlier in life, but
she did not think that she could call him Jerry now. She sup-
posed it must be Mr. Maguire ; but if so, half the romance
of the thing would be gone at once !

She felt herself to be very much at sea, and almost wished
that she might be like Mariana again, waiting and aweary,
so grievous was the necessity of having to make up her mind
on such a subject. To whom should she go for advice ?
She had told him that she would make further inquiries about
Miss Floss, but of whom was she to make them ? The only
person to whom she could apply was Miss Baker, and she
was almost sure that Miss Baker would despise her for
thinking of marrying Mr. Maguire.

But after a day or two she did tell Miss Baker, and she
saw at once that Miss Baker did despise her. But Miss
Baker, though she manifestly did despise her, promised her
some little aid. Miss Todd knew everything and everybody

MR. MAGUIKE'S COURTSHIP. 167

Might Miss Baker tell Miss Todd ? If there was anything
wrong, Miss Todd would ferret it out to a certainty. Miss
Mackenzie, hanging down her head, said that Miss Baker
might tell Miss Todd. Miss Baker, when she left Miss
Mackenzie, turned at once into Miss Todd's house, and found
her friend at home.

" It surprises me that any woman should be so foolish,"
said Miss Baker.

" Come, come, my dear, don't you be hard upon her.
We have all been foolish in our days. Do you remember,
when Sir Lionel used to be here, how foolish you and I
were ? "

" It's not the same thing at all," said Miss Baker. " Did
you ever see a man with such an eye as he has got ? "

" I shouldn't mind his eye, my dear ; only I'm afraid he's
got no money."

Miss Todd, however, promised to make inquiries, and
declared her intention of communicating what intelligence
she might obtain direct to Miss Mackenzie. Miss Baker
resisted this for a little while, but ultimately submitted, as
she was wont to do, to the stronger character of her
friend.

Miss Mackenzie had declared that she must have a fort-
night to think about it, and Miss Todd therefore knew that
she had nearly a fortnight for her inquiries. The reader
may be sure that she did not allow the grass to grow under
her feet. With Miss Mackenzie the time passed slowly
enough, for she could only sit on her sofa and doubt, resolv-
ing first one way and then another ; but Miss Todd went
about Littlebath, here and there, among friends and enemies,
filling up all her time ; and before the end of the fortnight
she certainly knew more about Mr. Maguire than did
anybody else in Littlebath.

She did not see Miss Mackenzie till the Saturday, the last
Saturday before the all-important Monday ; but on that day
she went to her.

" I suppose you know what I'm come about, my dear,"
she said.

Miss Mackenzie blushed, and muttered something about
Miss Baker.

" Yes, my dear :; Miss Baker was speaking to me about

168 MISS MACKENZIE.

Mr. Maguire. You needn't mind speaking out to me, Miss
Mackenzie. I can understand all about it ; and if I can be
of any assistance, I shall be very happy. No doubt you feel
a litble shy, but you needn't mind with me."

" I'm sure you're very good."

"I don't know about that, but I bope I'm not very bad.
The long and the short of it is, I suppose, that you think you
might as well, — might as well take Mr. Maguire."

Miss Mackenzie felt thoroughly ashamed of herself. She
could not explain to Miss Todd all her best motives ; and
then, those motives which were not the best were made to
seem so very weak and mean by the way in which Miss
Todd approached them. When she thought of the matter
alone, it seemed to her that she was perfectly reasonable in
wishing to be married, in order that she might escape the
monotony of a lonely life ; and she thought that if she could
talk to Miss Todd about the subject gently, for a quarter of an
hour at a time every day for two or three months, it was pos-
sible that she might explain her views with credit to herself ;
but how could she do this to anyone so very abruptly ? She
could only confess that she did want to marry the man, as
the child confesses her longing for a tart.

" I have thought about it, certainly," she said.

"Quite right," said Miss Todd ; "quite right if you like
him. Now for me, I'm so fond of my own money and my
own independence, that I've never had a fancy that way, —
not since I was a girl."

" But you're so different, Miss Todd ; you've got such a
position of your own"

And Miss Mackenzie, wno was at present desirous of
marrying a very strict evangelical clergyman, thought with
envy of the social advantages and pleasant iniquities of
her wicked neighbour.

" Oh, I don't know. I've a few friends, but that comes of
being here so long. And then, you see, I ain't particular as
you are. I always see that when a lady goes in to bo
evangelical, she soon finds a husband to take care of her j
that is, if she has got any money. It all goes on very
well, and I've no doubt they're right. There's my friend
Mary Baker, she's single still ; but then she began very
late in life. Now about Mr. Haguire."

MR. IfAGUIRE'S COURTSHIP. 169

"Well, Miss Todd."

" In the first place, I really don't think he has got much
that he can call his own."

" He hasn't got anything, Miss Todd ; he told me so
himself."

"Did he, indeed ? " said Miss Todd ; "then let me tell you
he is a deal honester than they are in general."

" Oh, he told me that. I know he's got no income
in the world besides his curacy, and that he has thrown
up."

"And therefore you are going to give him yours."

" I don't know about that, Miss Todd ; but it wasn't about
money that I was doubting. What I've got is enough for
both of us, if his wants are not greater than mine. What is
the use of money if people cannot be happy together with it ?
I don't care a bit for money, Miss Todd ; that is, not for
itself. I shouldn't like to be dependent on a stranger ; I
don't know that I would like to be dependent again even on
a brother ; but I should take no shame to be dependent on a
husband if he was good to me."

"That's just it; isn't it?"

" There's quite enough for him and me."

"I must say you look at the matter in the most dis-
interested way. I couldn't bring myself to take it up like
that."

"You haven't lived the life that I have, M s Todd, and I
don't suppose you ever feel solitary as I do."

"Well, I don't know. We single women have to be
solitary sometimes, — and sometimes sad."

" But you're never sad, Miss Todd."

" Have you never heard there are some animals, that,
when they're sick, crawl into holes, and don't ever show
themselves among the other animals ? Though it is only
the animals that do it, there's a pride in that which I like.
What's the good of complaining if one's down in the mouth ?
When one gets old and heavy and stupid, one can't go about
as one did when one was young ; and other people won't
care to come to you as they did then."

" But I had none of that when l was young, Miss
Todd."

" Hadn't you ? Then I won't gay but what you may be

170 MISS MACKENZIE.

right to try and begin now. But, law ! what am I talk-
ing of? I am old enough to be your mother."

" I think it so kind of you to talk to me at all/'

"Well, now about Mr. Maguire. I don't think he's
possessed of much of the fat of the land ; but that you say
you know already ? "

" Oh yes, I know all that."

" And it seems he has lost his curacy ? "

" He threw that up himself."

" I shouldn't be surprised, — but mind I don't say this for
certain, — but I shouldn't be surprised if he owed a little
money."

Miss Mackenzie's face became rather long.

" What do you call a little, Miss Todd ? "

" Two or three hundred pounds. I don't call that a great
deal."

" Oh dear, no ! " and Miss Mackenzie's face again became
Jieerful. " That could be settled without any trouble."

" Upon my word you are the most generous woman I ever
saw."

"No, I'm not that."

" Or else you must be very much in love ? "

" I don't think I am that either, Miss Todd ; only I don't
care much about money if other things are suitable. What
I chiefly wanted to know was "

" About that Miss Floss ? "

" Yes, Miss Todd."

" My belief is there never was a greater calumny, or what
I should call a stronger attempt at a do. Mmd I don't
think much of your St. Stumfolda, and never did. I believe
the poor man has never said a word to the woman. Mrs.
Stumfold has put it into her head that she could have Mr.
Maguire if she chose to set her cap at him, and, I dare say
Miss Floss has been dutiful to her saint. Bat, Miss
Mackenzie, if nothing else hinders you, don't let that hinder
you." Then Miss Todd, having done her business and made
her report, took her leave.

This was on Saturday. The next day would be Sunday,
and then on the following morning she must make her
answer. All that she had heard about Mr. Maguire was, to
her thinking, in his favour. As to his poverty, that he had

ME. MAGUIRE'S COURTSHIP. 171

declared himself, and that she did not mind. As to a few
hundred pounds of debt, how was a poor man to have helped
such a misfortune ? In that matter of Miss Floss he had
been basely maligned ; — so much maligned, that Miss
Mackenzie owed him all her sympathy. What excuse could
ihe now have for refusing him ?

When she went to bed on the Sunday night such were her
thoughts and her feelings.,

MISS MACKENZIE.

CHAPTER XIT.

TOM MACKENZIE'S BED-SIDE.

THERE was a Stumfoldian edict, ultra-Median-aud- Persian
in its strictness, ordaining that no Stumfoldian in Littlobalh
should be allowed to receive a letter on Sundays. And
there also existed a co-ordinate rule on the part of the Post-
master-General— or, rather, a privilege granted by that
functionary, — in accordance with which Stumfoldians, and
other such sects of Sabbatarians, were empowered to pro-
hibit the letter-carriers from contaminating their special
knockers on Sunday mornings. Miss Mackenzie had given
way to this easily, seeing nothing amiss in the edict, and not
caring much for her Sunday letters. In consequence, she
received on the Monday mornings those letters which were
due to her on Sundays, and on this special Monday morning
she received a letter, as to which the delay was of much
consequence. It was to tell her that her brother Tom was
dying, and to pray that she would be up in London as early on
the Monday as was practicable. Mr. Samuel E/ubb, junior,
who had written the letter in Gower Street, had known
northing of the Sabbatical edicts of the Stumfoldians.

*Stt is an inward tumour," said Mr. E/ubb, "and has
troubled him long, though he has said nothing about it. It
is now breaking, and the doctor says he can't live. He
begs that you will come to him, as he has very much to say
to you. Mrs. Tom would have written, but she is so much
taken up, and is so much beside herself, that she begs me to
say that she is not able j but I hope it won't be less welco'me

yon MACKENZIE'S BED-SIDE. 173

coming from me. The second pair back will be ready for
you, just as if it were your own. I would be waiting at the
station on Monday, if I knew what train you would come
by."

This she received while at breakfast on the Monday morn-
ing, having sat down a little earlier than usual, in order that
the tea-things might be taken away so as to make room for
Mr. Maguire.

Of course she must go up to town instantly, by the first
practicable train. She perceived at once that she would
have to send a message by telegraph, as they would have
expected to hear from her that morning. She got the
railway guide, and saw that the early express train had
already gone. There was, however, a mid-day train which
would reach Paddington in the afternoon. She immediately
got her bonnet and went off to the telegraph office, leaving
word with the servant, that if any one called " he " was to
be told that she had received sudden tidings which took her
up to London. On her return she found that " he " had not
been there yet, and now she could only hope that he would not
come till after she had started. It would, of course, be
impossible, at such a moment as this, to make any answer to
such a proposition as Mr. Maguire's.

He came, and when the servant gave him the message at
the door, he sent up craving permission to see her but for a
moment. She could not refuse him, and went down to him
in the drawing-room, with her shawl and bonnet.

" Dearest Margaret," said he, " what is this 2 " and he
took both her hands.

" I have received word that my brother, in London, is very
ill ; — that he is dying, and I must go to him."

He still held her hands, standing close to her, as though
he had some special right to comfort her,

" Cannot I go with you ? " he said. " Let me ; do let
me."

" Oh, no, Mr. Maguire ; it is impossible. What could you
do ? I am going to my brother's house."

" But have I not a right to be of help to you at such a
time ? " he asked.

" No, Mr. Maguire ; no right ; certainly none as yet."

"Oh! Margaret."

174 MISS MACKENZIE,

"I'm sure you will see that I canrot talk of anything of
that sort now."

" But you will not be back for ever so long."

"I cannot tell."

" Oh ! Margaret ; you will not leave me in suspense ?
After bidding me wait a fortnight, you will not go away
without telling me that you will be mine when you come
back ? One word will do it."

"Mr. Maguire, you really must excuse me now."

" One word, Margaret ; only one word," and he still held
her.

" Mr. Maguire," she said, tearing her hand from him, " I
am astonished at you. I tell you that my brother is dying
and you hold me here, and expect me to give you an answer
about nonsense. I thought you were more manly."

He saw that there was a flash in her eye as he stepped
back ; so he begged her pardon, and muttering something
about hoping to hear from her soon, took his leave. Poor
man! I do not see why she should not have accepted
him, as she had made up her mind to do so. And to him,
with his creditors, and in his present position, any certainty
in this matter would have made so much difference !

At the Paddington station Miss Mackenzie was met by
her other lover, Mr. Rubb. Mr. Rubb, however, had never
yet declared himself as holding this position, and did not do
so on the present occasion. Their conversation in the cab
was wholly concerning her brother's state, or nearly so. It
seemed that there was no hope. Mr. Rubb said that very
clearly. As to time the doctor would say nothing certain ;
but he had declared that it might occur any day. The
patient could never leave his bed again ; but as his constitu-
tion was strong, he might remain in his present condition
some weeks. He did not suffer much pain, or, at any rate,
did not complain of much ; but was very sad. Then Mr.
Rubb said one other word.

" I am afraid he is thinking of his wife and children."

" Would there be nothing for them out of the business ? "
asked Miss Mackenzie.

The junior partner at first shook his head, saying nothing.
After a few minutes he did speak in a low voice. " If there
be anything, it will be very little, — very little."

TOM MACKENZIE'S BED-SIDE. 175

Miss Mackenzie was rejoiced that she had given no definite
promise to Mr. Maguire. There seemed to be now a job for
her to do in the world which would render it quite un-
necessary that she should look about for a husband. If her
brother's widow were left penniless, with seven children,
there would be no longer much question as to what she
would do with her money. Perhaps the only person in the
world that she cordially disliked was her sister-in-law. She
certainly knew no other woman whose society would be so
unpalatable to her. But if things were so as Mr. Rubb now
described them, there could be no doubt about her duty. It
was very well indeed that her answer to Mr. Maguire had
been postponed to that Monday.

She found her sister-in-law in the dining-room, and Mrs.
Mackenzie, of course, received her with a shower of tears.
" I did think you would have come, Margaret, by the first
train."

Then Margaret was forced to explain all about the letter
and the Sunday arrangements at Littlebath ; and Mrs. Tom
was stupid and wouldn't understand, bat persisted in her
grievance, declaring that Tom was killing himself with
disappointment.

" And there's Dr. Slumpy just this moment gone without
a word to comfort one, — not even to say about when it will
be. I suppose you'll want your dinner before you go
up to see him. As for us, we've had no dinners, or
anything regular ; but, of course, you must be waited
on."

Miss Mackenzie simply took off her bonnet and shawl, and
declared herself ready to go up stairs as soon as her brother
would be ready to see her.

" It's fret about money has done it all, Margaret," said the
wife. " Since the day that Walter's shocking will was read,
he's never been himself for an hour. Of course he wouldn't
show it to you ; but he never has."

Margaret turned short round upon her sister-in-law on the
stairs.

" Sarah," said she, and then she stopped herself. " Never
mind ; it is natural, no doubt, you should feel it ; but there
are times and places when one's feelings should be kept
under control."

176 MISS MACKENZIE*

"That's mighty fine/' said Mrs. Mackenzie; "bufc, how-
ever, if you'll wait here, I'll go up to him."

In a few minutes more Miss Mackenzie was standing by
her brother's bed-side, holding his hand in hers.

" I knew you would come, Margaret," he said.

" Of course I should come ; who doubted it ? But never
mind that, for here I am."

" I only told her that we expected her by the earlier
train," said Mrs. Tom.

" Never mind the train as long as she's here," said Tom.
" You've heard how it is with me, Margaret ? "

Then Margaret buried her face in the bed-clothes and
wept, and Mrs. Tom, weeping also, hid herself behind the
curtains.

There was nothing said then about money or the troubles
of the business, and after a while the two women went down
to tea. In the dining-room they found Mr. B/ubb, who
seemed to be quite at home in the house. Cold meat was
brought up for Margaret's dinner, and they all sat down to
one of those sad sick-house meals which he or she who has
not known must have been lucky indeed. To Margaret it
was nothing new. All the life that she remembered, except
the last year, had been spent in nursing her elder brother ;
and now to be employed about the bed-side of a sufferer was
as natural to her as the air she breathed.

" I will sit with him to-night, Sarah, if you will let me,"
she said ; and Sarah assented.

It was still daylight when she found herself at her post.
Mrs. Mackenzie had j'ust left the room to go down among
the children, saying that she would return again before she
left him for the night. To this the invalid remonstrated,
begging his wife to go to bed.

" She has not had her clothes off for the last week," said
the husband.

" It don't matter about my clothes," said Mrs. Tom, still
weeping. She was always crying when in the sick room,
and always scolding when out of it ; thus complying with
the two different requisitions of her nature. The matter,
however, was settled by an assurance on her part that she
would go to bed, so that she might be stirring early.

There are women who seem to have an absolute pleasure

IOM MACKENZIE'S BED-SIDE. 17V

in fixing themselves for business by the bed-side of a sick
man. They generally commence their operations by laying
aside all fictitious feminine charms, and by arraying them-
selves with a rigid, unconventional, unenticing propriety.
Though they are still gentle, — perhaps more gentle than
ever in their movements, — there is a decision in all they do
very unlike their usual mode of action. The sick man, who
is not so sick but what he can ponder on the matter, feels
himself to be like a baby, whom he has seen the nurse to
take from its cradle, pat on the back, feed, and then return
to its little couch, all without undue violence or tyranny, but
still with a certain consciousness of omnipotence as far as
that child was concerned. The vitality of the man is gone
from him, and he, in his prostrate condition, debarred by all
the features of his condition from spontaneous exertion, feels
himself to be more a woman than the woman herself. She,
if she be such a one as our Miss Mackenzie, arranges her
bottles with precision ; knows exactly how to place her
chair, her lamp, and her teapot ; settles her cap usefully
on her head; and prepares for the night's work certainly
with satisfaction. And such are the best women of the
world, — among which number I think that Miss Mac-
kenzie has a right to be counted.

A few words of affection were spoken between the
brother and sister, for at such moments brotherly affec-
tion returns, and the estrangements of life are all for-
gotten in the old memories. He seemed comforted to
feel her hand upon the bed, and was glad to pronounce
her name, and spoke to her as though she had been the
favourite of the family for years, instead of the one mem-
ber of it who had been snubbed and disregarded. Poor
man, who shall say that there was anything hypocritical
or false in this ? And yet, undoubtedly, it was the fact
that Margaret was now the only wealthy one among
them, which had made him send to her, and think of
her, as he lay there in his sickness.

When these words of love had been spoken, he turned
himself on his pillow, and lay silent for a long wThile ; —
for hours, till the morning sun had risen, and the day-
light was again seen through the window curtain. Ifc
was not much after midsummer, and the daylight came

178 MISS MACKENZIE.

to them early. From time to time she had looked afc
him, and each hour in the night she had crept round to
him, and given him that which he needed. She did it
all with a certain system, noiselessly, but with an ab-
solute assurance on her own part that she carried with
her an authority sufficient to ensure obedience. On that
ground, in that place, I think that even Miss Todd would
have succumbed to her.

But when the morning sun had driven the appearance
of night from the room, making the paraphernalia of
sickness more ghastly than they had been under the
light of the lamp, the brother turned himself back again,
and began to talk of those things which were weighing
on his mind.

"Margaret," he said, "it's very good of you to come,
but as to myself, no one's coming can be of any use to me."

" It is all in the hands of God, Tom."

"No doubt, no doubt," said he, sadly, not daring to argue
such a point with her, and yet feeling but little consolation
from her assurance. " So is the bullock in God's hands
when the butcher is going to knock him on the head, but
yet we know that the beast will die. Men live and die from
natural causes, and not by God's interposition."

" But there is hope ; that is what I mean. If God

"Ah, well. But, Margaret, I fear that he will
not please ; and what am I to do about Sarah and the
children ? "

This was a question that could be answered by no general
platitude, — by no weak words of hopeless consolation.
Coming from him to her, it demanded either a very sub-
stantial answer, or else no answer at all. What was he to
do about Sarah and the children ? Perhaps there came a
thought across her mind that Sarah and the children had
done very little for her ; — had considered her very little, in
those old, weary days, in Arundel Street. And .those days
were not, as yet, so very old. It was now not much more
than twelve months since she had sat by the death-bed of
her other brother ; — since she had expressed to herself, and
to Harry Handcock, a humble wish that she might find her*
self to be above absolute want.

179

"I do not think you need fret about that, Tom," she
said, after turning these things over in her mind for a
minute or two.

" How, not fret about them ? But I suppose you know
nothing of the state of the business. Has Rubb spoken
to you ? "

"He did say some word as we came along in the
cab."

"What did he say?"

" He said "

" Well, tell me what he said. He said, that if I died,
— what then ? You must not be afraid of speaking of
it openly. Why, Margaret, they have all told me that it
must be in a month or two. What did Bubb say ? "

" He said that there would be very little coming out of the
business, — that is, for Sarah and the children, — if anything
were to happen to you."

" I don't suppose they'd get anything. How it has been
managed I don't know. I have worked like a galley slave
at it, but I haven't kept the books, and I don't know how
things have gone so badly. They have gone badly, — •
very badly."

" Has it been Mr. Bubb's fault ? "

" I won't say that ; and, indeed, if it has been any man's
fault it has been the old man's. I don't want to say a word
against the one that you know. Oh, Margaret ! "

" Don't fret yourself now, Tom."

" If you had seven children, would not you fret yourself ?
And I hardly know how to speak to you about it. I
know that we have already had ever so much of your money,
over two thousand pounds ; and I fear you will never see it
again."

" Never mind, Tom ; it is yours, with all my heart. Only,
Tom, as it is so badly wanted, I would rather it was yours
than Mr. Rubb's. Could I not do something that would
make that share of the building yours ? "

He shifted himself uneasily in his bed, and made her under-
stand that she had distressed him.

" But perhaps it will be better to say nothing more
about that," said she.

"It will be better that you should understand it all.
12—2

180 MISS MACKENZIE.

The property belongs nominally to ust but it is mort.
gaged to the full of its value. Rubb can explain it all,
if he will. Your money went to buy it, but other
creditors would not be satisfied without security. Ah,
dear ! it is so dreadful to have to speak of all this in
this way."

" Then don't speak of it, Tom."

" But what am I to do ? "

" Are there no proceeds from the business ? "

"Yes, for those who work in it; and I think there
will be something coming out of it for Sarah, — some-
thing, but it will be very small. And if so, she must
depend for it solely on Mr. Rubb."

" On the young one ? "

" Yes ; on the one that you know."

There was a great deal more said, and of course
everyone will know how such a conversation was ended,
and will understand with what ample assurance as to her
own intentions Margaret promised that the seven children
should not want. As she did so, she made certain rapid
calculations in her head. She must give up Mr. Maguire.
There was no doubt about that. She must give up all
idea of marrying any one, and, as she thought of this,
she told herself that she was perhaps well rid of a trouble.
She had already given away to the firm of Rubb and Mac-
kenzie above a hundred a-year out of her income. If she
divided the remainder with Mrs. Tom, keeping about three
hundred and fifty pounds a-year for herself and Susanna,
she would, she thought, keep her promise well, and yet re-
tain enough for her own comfort and Susanna's education.
It would be bad for the prospects of young John Ball, the
third of the name, whom she had taught herself to regard as
her heir ; but young John Ball would know nothing of the
good things he had lost. As to living with her sister-in-
law Sarah, and sharing her house and income with the
whole family, that she declared to herself nothing should in-
duce her to do. She would give up half of all that she had,
and that half would be quite enough to save her brother's
children from want. In making the promise to her brother
she said nothing about proportions, and nothing as to her
own future life. "'What I have," she said, "I will share

181

with them, and you may rest assured that they shall not
want." Of course he thanked her as dying men do thank
those who take upon themselves such charges ; but she per-
ceived as he did so, or thought that she perceived, that he
still had something more upon his mind.

Mrs. Tom came and relieved her in the morning, and Miss
Mackenzie was obliged to put off for a time that panoply of
sick-room armour which made her so indomitable in her
brother's bed-room. Down stairs she met Mr. E-ubb, who
talked to her much about her brother's affairs, and much
about the oilcloth business, speaking as though he were de-
sirous that the most absolute confidence should exist between
him and her. But she said no word of her promise to her
brother, except that she declared that the money lent was
now to be regarded as a present made by her to him
personally.

" I am afraid that that will avail nothing," said Mr. E-ubb,
junior, " for the amount now stands as a debt due by the
firm to you, and the firm, which would pay you the money if
it could, cannot pay it to your brother's estate any more
than it can to yours."

" But the interest," said Miss Mackenzie.

" Oh, yes ! the interest can be paid," said Mr. Rubb,
junior, but the tone of his voice did not give much promise
that this interest would be forthcoming with punctuality.

She watched again that night ; and on the next day, in
the afternoon, she was told that a gentleman wished to see
her in the drawing-room. Her thoughts at once pointed tx»
Mr. Maguire, and she went down stairs prepared to be very
angry with that gentleman. But on entering' the room she
found her cousin, John Ball. She was, in truth, glad to see
him ; for, after all, she thought that she liked him the best
of all the men or women that she knew. He was always in
trouble, but then she fancied that with him she at any rate
knew the worst. There was nothing concealed with him, —
nothing to be afraid of. She hoped that they might con-
tinue to know each other intimately as cousins. Under
existing circumstances they could not, of course, be anything
more to each other than that.

" This is very kind of you, John," she said, taking his hand,
" How did you know I was here ? "

182 MISS MACKENZIE.

" Mr, Slow told me. I was with Mr. Slow about business
of yours. I'm afraid from what I hear that you find your
brother very ill."

" Very ill, indeed, John,— ill to death."

She then asked after her uncle and aunt, and the
children, at the Cedars.

They were much as usual, he said ; and he added that his
mother would be very glad to see her at the Cedars ; only
he supposed there was no hope of that.

" Not just at present, John. You see I am wholly occupied
here."

" And will he really die, do you think ? "

" The doctors say so."

"And his wife and children, — will they be provided for? "

Margaret simply shook her head, and John Ball, as he
watched her, felt assured that his uncle Jonathan's money
would never come in his way, or in the way of his children.
But he was a man used to disappointment, and he bore this
with mild sufferance.

Then he explained to her the business about which he had
specially come to her. She had entrusted him with certain
arrangements as to a portion of her property, and he came
to tell her that a certain railway company wanted some
houses which belonged to her, and that by Act of Parliament
she was obliged to sell them.

" But the Act of Parliament will make the railway com-
pany pay for them, won't it, John ? "

Then he went on to explain to her that she was in luck's
way, " as usual," said the poor fellow, thinking of his own
misfortunes, and that she would greatly increase her income
by the sale. Indeed, it seemed to her that she would regain
pretty nearly all she had lost by the loan to Bubb arid Mac-
kenzie. " How very singular," thought she to herself. Under
these circumstances, it might, after all, be possible that she
should marry Mr. Maguire, if she wished it.

When Mr. Ball had told his business he did not stay much
longer. He said no word of his own hopes, if hopes they
could be called any longer. As he left her, he just referred
to what had passed between them.

" This is no time, Margaret," said he, "to ask you whether
you have changed your mind ? "

183

" No, John ; there are other things to think of now ; are
there not ? And, besides, they will want here all that I can
do for them."

She spoke to him with an express conviction that what
was wanted of her by him, as well as by others, was her
money, and it did not occur to him to contradict her.

" He might have asked to see me, I do think," said Mrs.
Tom, when John Ball was gone. " But there always was an
upsetting pride about those people at the Cedars which I
never could endure. And they are as poor as church mice.
When poverty and pride go together I do detest them. I
suppose he came to find out all about us, but I hope you told
him nothing."

To all this Miss Mackenzie made no answer at all.

184 MISS MACKENZIE.

CHAPTER XV.

THE TEARING OF THE VERSES.

THINGS went on in Gower Street for three or four weeks in
the same way, and then Susanna was fetched home from
Littlebath. Miss Mackenzie would have gone down herself
but that she was averse to see Mr. Maguire. She therefore
kept on her Littlebath lodgings, though Mrs. Tom said much
to her of her wasteful extravagance in doing so. It was at
last settled that Mr. Rubb should go down to Littlebath and
bring Susanna back with him ; and this he did, not at all to
that young lady's satisfaction. It was understood that
Susanna did not leave the school, at which she had lately
been received as a boarder ; but the holidays had come, and
it was thought well that she should see her father.

During this time Miss Mackenzie received two letters
from Mr. Maguire. In the first he pleaded hard for an
answer to his oifer. He had, he said, now relinquished his
curacy, having found the interference of that terrible woman
to be unendurable. He had left his curacy, and was at
present without employment. Under such circumstances,
" his Margaret " would understand how imperative it was
that he should receive an answer. A curacy, or, rather, a
small incumbency, had offered itself among the mines in
Cornwall ; but he could not think of accepting this till he
should know what " his Margaret " might say to it.

To this Margaret answered most demurely, and perhaps a
little slily. She said that her brother's health and affairs
were at present in such a condition as to allow her to think
of nothing else ; that she completely understood Mr.

THE TEAEIN& OF THE VERSES. 185

Maguire's position, and that it was essential that he should
not be kept in suspense. Under these combined circumstances
she had no alternative but to release him from the offer he
had made. This she did with the less unwillingness as it
was probable that her pecuniary position would be con-
siderably altered by the change in her brother's family
which they were now expecting almost daily. Then she
bade him farewell, with many expressions of her esteem,
and said that she hoped he might be happy among the
mines in Cornwall.

Such was her letter ; but it did not satisfy Mr.
Maguire, and he wrote a second letter. He had declined,
he said, the incumbency among the mines, having heard
of something which he thought would suit him better in
Manchester. As to that, there was no immediate hurry,
and he proposed remaining at Littlebath for the next two
months, having been asked to undertake temporary duty
in *a neighbouring church for that time. By the end of
the two months he hoped that " his Margaret " would be
able to give him an answer in a different tone. As to
her pecuniary position, he would leave that, he said,
" all to herself."

To this second letter Miss Mackenzie did not find it
necessary to send any reply.

The domestics in the Mackenzie family were not at
this time numerous, and the poor mother had enough to
do with her family down stairs. No nurse had been
hired for the sick man, for nurses cannot be hired withr
out money, and money with the Tom Mackenzies was
scarce. Our Miss Mackenzie would have hired a nurse,
but she thought it better to take the work entirely into
her own hands. She did so, and I think we may say
that her brother did not suffer by it. As she sat by his
bed-side, night after night, she seemed to feel that she had
fallen again into her proper place, and she looked back upon
the year she had spent at Littlebath almost with dismay.
Since her brother's death, three men had offered to marry
her, and there was a fourth from whom she had expected
such an offer. She looked upon all this with dismay, and
told herself that she was not fit to sail, under her own
guidance, out in the broad sea, amidst such rocks as those.

186 MISS MACKENZIE.

Was not some humbly feminine employment, such as that in
which she was now engaged, better for her in all ways ?
Sad as was the present occasion, did she not feel a satisfac-
tion in what she was doing, and an assurance that she was
fit for her position ? Had she not always been ill at ease,
and out of her element, while striving at Littlebath to live
the life of a lady of fortune ? She told herself that it was
so. and that it would be better for her to be a hard-working,
dependent woman, doing some tedious duty day by day, than
to live a life of ease which prompted her to longings for
things unfitted to her.

She had brought a little writing-desk with her that she
had carried from Arundel Street to Littlebath, and this she
had with her in the sick man's bedroom. Sitting there
through the long hours of night, she would open this and
read over and over again those remnants of the rhymes
written in her early days which she had kept when she made
her great bonfire. There had been quires of such verses,
but she had destroyed all but a few leaves before she started
for Littlebath. What were left, and were now read, were
very sweet to her, and yet she knew that they were wrong
and meaningless. What business had such a one as she to
talk of the sphere's tune and the silvery moon, of bright
stars shining and hearts repining ? She would not for
worlds have allowed any one to know what a fool she had
been, — either Mrs. Tom, or John Ball, or Mr. Maguire, or
Miss Todd. She would have been covered with confusion if
her rhymes had fallen into the hands of any one of them.

And yet she loved them well, as a mother loves her only
idiot child. They were her expression of the romance and
poetry that had been in her ; and though the expressions
doubtless were poor, the romance and poetry of her heart
had been high and noble. How wrong the world is in con-
necting so closely as it does the capacity for feeling and the
incapacity for expression ; — in thinking that capacity for
the one implies capacity for the other, or incapacity for the
one incapacity also for the other ; in confusing the technical
art of the man who sings with the unselfish tenderness of the
man who feels ! But the world does so connect them ; and,
consequently, those who express themselves badly aro
ashamed of their feelings.

THE TEARING OF THE VERSES. 187

She read her poor lines again and again, throwing herself
back into the days and thoughts of former periods, and tell-
ing herself that it was all over. She had thought of
encouraging love, and love had come to her in the shape of
Mr. Maguire, a very strict evangelical clergyman, without a
cure or an income, somewhat in debt, and with, oh ! such an
eye ! She tore the papers, very gently, into the smallest
fragments. She tore them again and again, swearing to
herself as she did so that there should be an end of all that ;
and, as there was no fire at hand, she replaced the pieces in
her desk. During this ceremony of the tearing she devoted
herself to the duties of a single life, to the drudgeries of or-
dinary utility, to such works as those she was now doing.
As to any society, wicked or religious, — wicked after the
manner of Miss Todd, or religious after the manner of St.
Stumfolda, — it should come or not, as circumstances might
direct. She would go no more in search of it. Such were
the resolves of a certain night, during which the ceremony
of the tearing took place.

It came to pass at this time that Mr. Rubb, junior, visited
his dying partner almost daily, and was always left alone
with him for some time. When these visits were made Miss
Mackenzie would descend to the room in which her sister-in.
law was sitting, and there would be some conversation be-
tween them about Mr. Rubb and his affairs. Much as these
two women disliked each other, there had necessarily arisen
between them a certain amount of confidence. Two persons
who are much thrown together, to the exclusion of other so-
ciety, will tell each other their thoughts, even though there
be no love between them.

" What is he saying to him all these times when he is
with him ? " said Mrs. Tom one morning, when Miss
Mackenzie had come down on the appearance of Mr. Rubb
in the sick room.

' He is talking about the business, I suppose."

" What good can that do ? Tom can't say anything about
that, as to how it should be clone. He thinks a great deal
about Sam Rubb ; but it's more than I do."

" They must necessarily be in each other's confidence, I
should say."

" He's not in my confidence. My belief is he's been a deal

138 MISS MACKENZIE.

too clever for Tom ; and that he'll turn out to be too clever
— for me, and — my poor orphans." Upon which Mrs. Tom
put her handkerchief up to her eyes. " There ; he's coming
down," continued the wife. " Do you go up now, and make
Tom tell you what it is that Sam Rubb has been saying to him."

Margaret Mackenzie did go up as she heard Mr. Rubb
close the front door ; but she had no such purpose as that
with which her sister-in-law had striven to inspire her. She
had no wish to make the sick man tell her anything that he
did not wish to tell. In considering the matter within her
own breast, she owned to herself that she did not expect
much from the Rubbs in aid of the wants of her nephews
and nieces ; but what would be the use of troubling a dying
man about that ? She had agreed with herself to believe
that the oilcloth business was a bad affair, and that it would
be well to hope for nothing from it. That her brother to
the last should, harass himself about the business was only
natural ; but there could be no reason why she should harass
him on the same subject. She had recognised the fact that
his widow and children must be supported by her ; and had
she now been told that the oilcloth factory had been abso-
lutely abandoned as being worth nothing, it would not have
caused her much disappointment. She thought a great deal
more of the railway company that was going to buy her
property under such favourable circumstances.

She was, therefore, much surprised when her brother be-
gan about the business as soon as she had seated herself. I
do not know that the reader need be delayed with any of the
details that he gave her, or with the contents of the papers
which he showed her. She, however, found herself com-
pelled to go into the matter, and compelled also to make an
endeavour to understand it. It seemed that everything
hung upon Samuel Rubb, junior, except the fact that
Samuel Rubb's father, who now never went near the
place, got more than half the net profits ; and the further
fact, that the whole thing would come to an end if this
payment to old Rubb were stopped.

" Tom," said she, in the middle of it all, when her head
was aching with figures, "if it will comfort you, and
enable you to put all these things away, you may know
that I will divide everything I have with Sarah."

THE TEARING Oi1 THE YERSES. 189

He assured her that her kindness did comfort him;
but he hoped better than that; he still thought that
something better might be arranged if she would only go on
with her task. So she went on painfully toiling through
figures.

" Sam drew them up on purpose for you, yesterday after .
noon," said he.

" Who did it ? " she asked.

" Samuel Rubb."

He then went on to declare that she might accept all
Samuel Rubb's figures as correct.

She was quite willing to accept them, and she strove hard
to understand them? It certainly did seem to her that when
her money was borrowed somebody must have known that
the promised security would not be forthcoming ; but per-
haps that somebody was old Rubb, whom, as she did not
know him, she was quite ready to regard as the villain in
the play that was being acted. Her own money, too, was a
thing of the past. That fault, if fault there had been, was
condoned ; and she was angry with herself in that she now
thought of it again.

" And now," said her brother, as soon as she had put the
papers back, and declared that she understood them. " Now
I have something to say to you which I hope you will hear
without being angry." He raised himself on his bed as he
said this, doing so with difficulty and pain, and turning his
face upon her so that he could look into her eyes. "If I
didn't know that I was dying I don't think that I could say
it to you."

" Say what, Tom ? "

She thought of what most terrible thing it might be pos-
sible that he should have to communicate. Could it be that
he had got hold, or that Rubb and Mackenzie had got hold,
of all her fortune, and turned it into unprofitable oilcloth ?
Could they in any way have made her responsible for their
engagements ? She wished to trust them ; she tried to
avoid suspicion ; but she feared that things were amiss.

" Samuel Rubb and I have been talking of it. and he
thinks it had better come from me," said her brother.
^ " What had better come ? " she asked.

" It is his proposition, Margaret."

190 MISS MACKENZIE.

Then she knew all about it, and felt great relief. Then
she knew all about it, and let him go on till he had
spoken his speech.

" God knows how far he may be indulging a false hope,
or deceiving himself altogether j but he thinks it possible
that you might — might become fond of him. There, Mar-
garet, that's the long and the short of it. And when I told
him that he had better say that himself, he declared that
you would not bring yourself to listen to him while I am
lying here dying."

" Of course I would not."

" But, look here, Margaret ; I know you would do much
to comfort me in my last moments."

"Indeed, I would, Tom."

" I wouldn't ask you to marry a man you didn't like ; —
not even if it were to do the children a service ; but if that
can be got over, the other feeling should not restrain
you when it would be the greatest possible comfort to me."

" But how could it serve you, Tom ? "

" If that could be arrang-ed, Eubb would give up to Sarah
during his father's life all the proceeds of the business, after
paying the old man. And when he dies, and he is very old
now, the five hundred a-year would be continued to her.
Think what that would be, Margaret."

" But, Tom, she shall have what will make her comfort-
able without waiting for any old man's death. It shall be
quite half of my income. If that is not enough it shall be
more. Will not that do for her ? "

Then her brother strove to explain as best he could that
the mere money was not all he wanted. If his sister did
not like this man, if she had no wish to become a married
woman, of course, he said, the plan must fall to the ground.
But if there was anything in Mr. Hubb's belief that she
was not altogether indifferent to him, if such an arrange-
ment could be made palatable to her, then he would be able
to think that he, by the work of his life, had left something
behind him to his wife and family.

"And Sarah would be more comfortable," he pleaded.
" Of course, she is grateful to you, as I am, and as we all
are. But given bread is bitter bread, and if she could think
it came to her, of her own right "

THE TEARING OF THE VERSES. l9l

He said ever so much more, but that ever so much more
was quite unnecessary. His sister understood the whole
matter. It was desirable that she, by her fortune, should
enable the widow and orphans of her brother to live in com-
fort ; but it was not desirable that this dependence on her
should be plainly recognised. She did not, however, feel
herself to be angry or hurt. It, would, no doubt, be better
for the family that they should draw their income in an
apparently independent way from their late father's business
than that they should owe their support to the charity of an
aunt. But then, how about herself ? A month or two ago,
before the Maguire feature in her career had displayed itself
so strongly, an overture from Mr. Rubb might probably not
have been received with disfavour. But now, while she was
as it were half engaged to another man, she could not enter-
tain such a proposition. Her womanly feeling revolted from
it. No doubt she intended to refuse Mr. Maguire. No
doubt she had made up her mind to that absolutely, during
the ceremony of tearing up her verses. And she had never
had much love for Mr. Maguire, and had felt some, — almost
some, for Mr. Rubb. In either case she was sure that, had
she married the man, — the one man or the other, — she
would instantly have become devoted to him. And I, who
chronicle her deeds and endeavour to chronicle her thoughts,
feel equally sure that it would have been so. There was
something harsh in it, that Mr. Maguire's offer to her
should, though never accepted, debar her from the possibility
of marrying Mr. Rubb, and thus settling all the affairs of
her family in a way that would have been satisfactory to
them and not altogether unsatisfactory to her ; but she was
aware that it did so. She felt that it was so, and then
threw herself back for consolation upon the security which
would still be hers, and the want of security which must
attach itself to a marriage with Mr. Rubb. He might
make ducks, and drakes, and oilcloth of it all ; and then
there would be nothing left for her, for her sister-in-law, or
for the children.

"May I tell him to speak to yourself?" her brother
asked, while she was thinking of all this.

" No, Tom ; no ; it would do no good."

" You do not fancy him, then."

192 HISS MACKENZIE.

" I do not know about fancying • but I think it will be
better for me to remain as I am. I would do anything
for you and Sarah, almost anything ; but I cannot do
that."

"Then I will say nothing further."

" Don't ask me to do that."

And he did not ask her again, but turned his face from
her and thought of the bitterness of his death-bed.

That evening, when she went down to tea, she met Samuel
Hubb standing at the drawing-room door.

" There is no one here," he said ; " will you mind coming
in ? Has your brother spoken to you ? "

She had followed him into the room, and he had closed
the door as he asked the question.

" Yes, he has spoken to me."

She could see that the man was trembling with anxiety
and eagerness, and she almost loved him that he was anxious
and eager. Mr. Maguire, when he had come a wooing, had
not done it badly altogether, but there had not been so
much reality as there was about Sam Rubb while he stood
there shaking, and fearing, and hoping.

" Well," said he, " may I hope ; — may I think it will be
so ? may I ask you to be mine ? "

He was handsome in her eyes, though perhaps, delicate
reader, he would not have been handsome in yours. She
knew that he was not a gentleman ; but what did that
matter ? Neither was her sister-in-law Sarah a lady.
There was not much in that house in Gower Street that was
after the manner of gentlemen and ladies. She was ready
to throw all that to the dogs, and would have done so but
for Mr. Maguire. She felt that she would like to have
allowed herself to love him in spite of the tearing of the
verses. She felt this, and was very angry with Mr,
Maguire. But the facts were stern, and there was no hope
for her.

"Mr. Rubb," she said, "there can be nothing of that
kind."

" Can't there really, now ? " said he.

She assured him in her strongest language, that there
could be nothing of that kind, and then went down to the
dining-room.

THE TEARING OF THE VERSES. 193

He did not venture to follow her, but made his way out
of the house without seeing anyone else.

Another fortnight went by, and then, towards the close of
September, came the end of all things in this world for poor
Tom Mackenzie. He died in the middle of the night in his
wife's arms, while his sister stood by holding both their
hands. Since the day on which he had endeavoured to
arrange a match between his partner and his sister he
had spoken no word of business, at any rate to the
latter, and things now stood on that footing which she had
then attempted to give them. We all know how silent on
such matters are the voices of all in the bereft household,
from the hour of death till that other hour in which the
body is consigned to its kindred dust. Women make
mourning, and men creep about listlessly, but during those
few sad days there may be no talk about money. So it was
in Gower Street. The widow, no doubt, thought much of
her bitter state of dependence ; — thought something, per-
haps, of the chance there might be that her husband's sister
would be less good than her word, now that he was gone ; —
meditated with what amount of submission she must accept
the generosity of the woman she had always hated ; but she
was still mistress of that house till the undertakers had
done their work ; and till that work had been done, she said
little of her future plans.

" I'd earn my bread, if I knew how," she began, putting
her handkerchief up to her eyes, on the afternoon of the very
day on which he was buried.

"There will be no occasion for that, Sarah," said Miss
Mackenzie, " there will be enough for us all."

" But I would if I knew how. I wouldn't mind what I
did ; I'd scour floors rather than be dependent, I've that
spirit in me ; and I've worked, and moiled, and toiled with
those children ; so I have."

Miss Mackenzie then told her that she had solemnly pro-
mised her brother to divide her income with his widow,
and informed her that she intended to see Mr. Slow, the
lawyer, on the following day. with reference to the doing of
this.

" If there is anything from the factory, that can be divided
too," said Miss Mackenzie.
13

194 MISS MACKENZIE.

"But there won't. The Rubbs will take all that; of
course they will. And Tom put into it near upon ten
thousand pounds ! "

Then she began to cry again, but soon interrupted her
tears to ask what was to become of Susanna. Susanna,
who was by, looked anxiously up into her aunt's eyes.

"Susanna and I," said the aunt, "have thrown in our
lot together, and we mean to remain so ; don't we dear ? "
" If mamma will let me."

" I'm sure it's very good of you to take one off my hands,'*
said the mother, " for even one will be felt."

Then came a note to Miss Mackenzie from Lady Ball,
asking her to spend a few days at the Cedars before she re-
turned to Littlebath, — that is, if she did return, — and she
consented to do this. While she was there Mr. Slow could
prepare the necessary arrangements for the division of the
property, and she could then make up her mind as to the
manner and whereabouts of her future life. She was all at
sea again, and knew not how to choose. If she were a
Romanist, she would go into a convent ; but Protestant con-
vents she thougnt were bad, and peculiarly unntted for the
followers of Mr. Stumfold. She had nothing to bind her to
any spot, and something to drive her from every spot of
which she knew anything.

Before she went to the Cedars Mr. Rubb came to Gower
Street and bade her farewell.

" I had allowed myself to hope, Miss Mackenzie," said he,
" I had, indeed ; I suppose I was very foolish."

" I don't know as to being foolish, Mr. Rubb, unless it
was in caring about such a person as me."

" I do care for you, very much ; but I suppose I was
wrong to think you would put up with such as I am. Only
I did think that perhaps, seeing that we had been partners

with your brother so long . All the same, I know that

the Mackenzies are different from the Rubbs."

" That has had nothing to with it ; nothing in the
least."

" Hasn't it now ? Then, perhaps, Miss Mackenzie, at

gome future time "

Miss Mackenzie was obliged to tell him that there could
not possibly be any other answer given to him at any future

THE TEARING OF THE VERSES. 195

time than that which she gave him now. He suggested
that perhaps he might be allowed to try again when the
first month or two of her grief for her brother should be
over ; but she assured him that it would be useless. At the
moment of her conference with him, she did this with all
her energy ; and then, as soon as she was alone, she asked
herself why she had been so energetical. After all, mar-
riage was an excellent state in which to live. The romance
was doubtless foolish and wrong, and the tearing of the
papers had been discreet, yet there could be no good reason
why she should turn her back upon sober wedlock. Never-
theless, in all her speech to Mr. Rubb she did do so. There
was something in her position as connected with Mr.
Maguire which made her feel that it would be indelicate to
entertain another suitor before that gentleman had received
a final answer.

As she went away from Gower Street to the Cedars she
thought of this very sadly, and told herself that she had
been like the ass who starved between two bundles of hay,
or as the boy wha had fallen between two stooin.

196 HISS MACKENZIE.

CHAPTER XVL

LADY BALL'S GRIEVANCE.

Miss MACKENZIE, before she left Gower Street, was forced
to make some arrangements as to her affairs at Littlebath,
and these were ultimately settled in a manner that was not
altogether palatable to her. Mr. Rubb was again sent
down, having Susanna in his charge, and he was empowered
to settle with Miss Mackenzie's landlady and give up the
lodgings. There was much that was disagreeable in this.
Miss Mackenzie having just rejected Mr. Kubb's suit, did
not feel quite comfortable in giving him a commission to
see all her stockings and petticoats packed up and brought
away from the lodgings. Indeed, she could give him no
commission of the kind, but intimated her intention of
writing to the lodging-house keeper. He, however, was
profuse in his assurances that nothing should be left behind,
and if Miss Mackenzie would tell him anything of the way
in which the things ought to be packed, he would be so
happy to attend to her ! To him Miss Mackenzie would
give no such instructions, but doubtless, she gave many to
Susanna.

As to Susanna, it was settled that she should remain as a
boarder at the Littlebath school, at any rate for the next
half-year. After that there might be great doubt whether
her aunt could bear the expense of maintaining her in such
a position.

Miss Mackenzie had reconciled herself to going to the
Cedars because she would thus have an opportunity of seeing
her lawyer and arranging about her property, whereas had

LADY BALL'S GRIEVANCE. 197

she been down at Littlebath there would have been a Difficulty.
And she wanted some one whom she could trust to act for
her, some one besides the lawyer, and she thought that she
could trust her cousin, John Ball. As to getting away from
all her suitors that was impossible. Had she gone to Little-
bath there was one there ; had she remained with her sister-
in-law, she would have been always near another ; and, on
going to the Cedars, she would meet the third. But she
could not on that account absolutely isolate herself from
everybody that she knew in the world. And, perhaps, she
was getting somewhat used to her suitors, and less liable
than she had been to any fear that they could force her into
action against her own consent. So she went to the Cedars,
and, on arriving there, received from her uncle and aunt but
a moderate amount of condolence as to the death of her
brother.

Her first and second days in her aunt's house were very
quiet. Nothing was said of John's former desires, and
nothing about her own money or her brother's family. On
the morning of the third day she told her cousin that she
would, on the next morning, accompany him to town if he
would allow her. "I am going to Mr. Slew's," said she,
" and perhaps you could go with me." To this he assented
willingly, and then, after a pause, surmised that her visit
must probably have reference to the sale of her houses to
the railway company. "Partly to that," she said, "but it
chiefly concerns arrangements for my brother's family."

To this John Ball said nothing, nor did Lady Ball, who
was present, then speak. But Miss Mackenzie could see
that her aunt looked at her cousin, opening her eyes, and
expressing concern. John Ball himself allowed no change
to come upon his face, but went on deliberately with his
bread and butter. "I shall be very happy to go with you,"
he said, " and will either come and call for you when you
have done, or stay with you while you are there, just as you
like."

" I particularly want you to stay with me," said she, " and
as we go up to town I will tell you all about it."

She observed that before her cousin left the house on that
day, his mother got hold of him and was alone with him for
nearly half an hour. After that, Lady Ball was alone with

198 MISS MACKENZIE.

Sir John, in his own room, for another half hour. The old
baronet had become older, of course, and much weaker, since
his niece had last been at the Cedars, and was now seldom
seen about the house till the afternoon.

Of all the institutions at the Cedars that of the carriage
was tho most important. Miss Mackenzie found that the
carriage arrangements had been fixed upon a new and more
settled basis since her last visit. Then it used to go out
perhaps as often as three times a week. But there did not
appear to be any fixed rule. Like other carriages, it did, to
a certain degree, come when it was wanted. But now there
was, as I have said, a settled basis. The carriage came to
the door on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, exactly at
two o'clock, and Sir John with Lady Ball were driven about
till four.

On the first Monday of her visit Miss Mackenzie had gone
with her uncle and aunt, and even she had found the pace to
be very slow, and the whole affair to be very dull. Her
uncle had once enlivened the thing by asking her whether
she had found any lovers since she went to Littlebath, and
this question had perplexed her very much. She could not
say that she had found none, and as she was not prepared
to acknowledge that she had found any, she could only sit
still and blush.

" Women have plenty of lovers when they have plenty of
money," said the baronet.

" I don't believe that Margaret thinks of anything of the
kind," said Lady Ball.

After that Margaret determined to have as little to do
with the carriage as possible, and on that evening she
learned from her cousin that the horses had been sold to the
man who farmed the land, and were hired every other day
for two hours' work.

It was on the Thursday morning that Miss Mackenzie
had spoken of going into town on the morrow, and on
that day when her aunt asked her about the driving, she
declined.

" I hope that nothing your uncle said on Tuesday annoyed
you ? "

" Oh dear no j but if you don't inind it, I'd rather stay at
home,"

199

" Of course you shall if you like it," said her aunt ; " and
by-the-bye, as I want to speak to you, and as we might not
find time after coming home, if you don't mind it I'll do it
now."

Of course Margaret said that she did not mind it, though
in truth she did mind it, and was afraid of her aunt.

" Well then, Margaret, look here. I want to know some-
thing about your brother's affairs. From what I have heard,
I fear they were not very good."

" They were very bad, aunt ; — very bad indeed."

" Dear, dear ; you don't say so. Sir John always feared
that it would be so when Thomas Mackenzie mixed himself
up with those Rubbs. And there has gone half of Jona-
than Ball's money ; — money which Sir John made ! Well,
well ! "

Miss Mackenzie had nothing to say to this ; and as she
had nothing to say to it she sat silent, making no attempt at
any words.

" It does seem hard ; don't it, my dear ? "

" It wouldn't make any difference to anybody now ;
— to my uncle, I mean, or to John, if the money was not
gone."

" That's quite true ; quite true ; only it does seem to be
a pity. However, the half of Jonathan's money which
you have got, is not lost, and there's some comfort in
that."

Miss Mackenzie was not called upon to make any answer
to this ; for although she had lost a large sum of money by
lending it to her brother, nevertheless she was still possessed
of a larger sum of money than that which her brother
Walter had received from Jonathan Ball.

" And what are they going to do, my dear ; — the children,
I mean, and the widow ? I suppose there'll be something
for them out of the business ? "

" I don't think there'll be anything, aunt. As far ao I can
understand there will be nothing certain. Thef may pro-
bably get a hundred and twenty-five pounds a-year." This
she named, as being the interest of the money she had lent,
— or given.

" A hundred and twenty- five pounds a-year. That isn't
much, but it will keep them from absolute want."

200 MISS MACKENZIE.

"Would it, aunt?"

"Oh, yes; at least, I suppose so. I hope she's a good
manager. She ought to be, for she's a very disagreeable
woman. You told me that yourself, you know."

Then Miss Mackenzie, having considered for one moment,
resolved to make a clean breast of it all, and this she did
with the fewest possible words.

" I'm going to divide what I've got with them, and I hope
it will make them comfortable."

" What ! " exclaimed her aunt.

" I'm going to give Sarah half what I've got, for her and
her children. I shall have enough to live on left."

" Margaret, you don't mean it ? "

" Not mean it ? why not, aunt ? You would not have me
let them starve. Besides, I promised my brother when he
was dying."

" Then I must say he was very wrong, very wicked,
I may say, to exact any such promise from you ; and no
such promise is binding. If you ask Sir John, or your
lawyer, they will tell you so. What ! exact a promise
from you to the amount of half your income. It was very
wrong."

"" But, aunt, I should do the same if I had made no pro-
mise."

"No, you wouldn't, my dear. Your friends wouldn't let
you. And indeed your friends must prevent it now. They
will not hear of such a sacrifice being made."

" But, aunt "

"Well, my dear."

"It's my own, you know." And Margaret, as she said
this, plucked up her courage, and looked her aunt full in the
face.

" Yes, it is your own, by law ; but I don't suppose, my
dear, that you are of that disposition or that character that
you'd wish to set all the world at defiance, and make every-
body belonging to you feel that you had disgraced your-
self."

" Disgraced myself by relieving my brother's family ! "

" Disgraced yourself by giving to that woman money that
has come to you as your fortune has come. Think of it,
where it came from ! "

LADY BALL'S GRIEVANCE. 201

" It came to me from my brother Walter."

" And where did he get it ? And who made it ? And
don't you know that your brother Tom had his share of it,
and wasted it all ? Did it not all come from the Balls ?
And yet you think so little of that, that you are going- to let
that woman rob you of it ; — rob you and my grandchildren ;
for that, I tell you, is the way in which the world will look
at it. Perhaps you don't know it, but all that property was
as good as giren to John at ene time. Who was it first
took you by the hand when you were left all alone in Arundel
Street ? Oh, Margaret, don't go and be such an ungrateful,
foolish creature ! "

Margaret waited for a moment, and then she answered : — •

"There's nobody so near to me as my own brother's
children."

" As to that, Margaret, there isn't much difference in near-
ness between your uncle and your nephews and nieces. But
there's a right and a wrong in these things, and when
money is concerned, people are not justified in indulging
their fancies. Everything here has been told to you. You
know how John is situated with his children. And after
what there has been between you and him, and after what
there still might be if you would have it so, I own that I am
astonished, — fairly astonished. Indeed, my dear, I can only
look on it as simple weakness on your part. It was but the
other day that you told me you had done all that you
thought necessary by your brother in taking Susanna."

" But that was when he was alive, and I thought he was
doing well."

" The fact is, you have been there and they've talked you
over. It can't be that you love children that you never saw
till the other day ; and as for the woman, you always hated
her."

"Whether I love her or hate her has nothing to do
with it."

" Margaret, will you promise me this, that you will see
Mr. Slow and talk to him about it before you do any-
thing?"

" I must see Mr. Slow before I can do anything ; but
whatever he says, I shall do it all the same."

" Will you speak to your uncle ? "

202 MTSS MACKENZIE.

" I had rather not."

" You are afraid to tell him of this ; but of course he
must be told. Will you speak to John ? "

" Certainly ; I meant to do so going to town to-morrow."

" And if he tells you you are wrong — "

" Aunt, I know I am not wrong. It is nonsense to say
that I am wrong in "

" That's respectful, Margaret ! "

" I don't want to be disrespectful, aunt ; but in such a
case as this I know that I have a right to do what I like
with my own money. If I was going to give it away to any
other friend, if I was going to marry, or anything like that,"
— she blushed at the remembrance of the iniquities she had
half intended as she said this, — " then there might be some
reason for you to scold me j but with a brother and a
brother's family it can't be wrong. If you had a brother,
and had been with him when he was dying, and he had left
his wife and children looking to you, you would have done
the same."

Upon this Lady Ball got up from her chair and walked to
the door. Margaret had been more impetuous, and had
answered her with much more confidence than she had
expected. She was determined now to say one more word,
but so to say it that it should not be answered ; — to strike
one more blow, but so to strike it that it should not be
returned.

" Margaret," she said, as she stood with the door open in
her hands, " if you will reflect where the money came from,
your conscience will tell you without much difficulty where
it should go to. And when you think of your brother's
children, whom this time last year you had hardly seen,
think also of John Ball's children, who have welcomed you
into this house as their dearest relative. In one sense,
certainly, the money is yours, Margaret; but in another
sense, and that the highest sense, it is not yours to do what
you please with it."

Then Lady Ball shut the door rather loudly, and sailed
away along the hall. When the passages were clear, Miss
Mackenzie made her way up into her own room, and saw
none of the family till she came down just before dinner.

She sat for a long time in the chair by her bed-side think-

LADY BALL'S GRIEVANCE. 203

ing of her position. Was it true after all that she was
bound by a sense of justice to give any of her money to the
Balls ? It was true that in one sense it had been taken
from them, but she had had nothing to do with that taking.
If her brother Walter had married and had children, then
the Balls would not have expected the money back again.
It was ever so many years, — five-and-twenty years, and more,
— since the legacy had been made by Jonathan Ball to her
brother, and it seemed to her that her aunt had no common
sense on her side in the argument. Was it possible that
she should allow her own nephews and nieces to starve
while she was rich ? She had, moreover, made a promise,
— a promise to one who was now dead, and there was a
solemnity in that which carried everything else befpre
it. Even though the thing might be unjust, still she
must do it.

But she was to give only half her fortune to her brother's
family ; there would still be the half left for herself, for her-
self or for these Balls if they wanted it so sorely. She
was beginning to hate her money. It had brought to her
nothing but tribulation and disappointment. Had Walter
left her a hundred a year, she would, not having then
dreamed of higher things, have been amply content. Would
it not be better that she should take for herself some^modest
competence, something on which she might live without
trouble to her relatives, without trouble to her friends she
had first said, — but as she did so she told herself with scorn
that friends she had none, — and then let the Balls have what
was left her after she had kept her promise to her brother ?
Anything would be better than such persecution as that to
which her aunt had subjected her.

At last she made up her mind to speak of it all openly to
her cousin. She had an idea that in such matters men were
more trustworthy than women, and perhaps less greedy.
Her cousin would, she thought, be more just to her than her
aunt had been. That her aunt had been very unjust, — cruel
and unjust, — she felt assured.

She came down to dinner, and she could see by the
manners of them all that the matter had been discussed
since John Ball's return from London. Jack, the eldest son,
was not at home, and the three girls who came next to Jack

204 MISS MACKENZIE.

dined with their father and grandfather. To them Margaret
endeavoured to talk easily, but she failed. They had never
been favourites with her as Jack was, and, on this occasion,
she could get very little from them that was satisfactory to
her. John Ball was courteous to her, but he was very silent
throughout the whole evening. Her aunt showed her dis-
pleasure by not speaking to her, or speaking barely with a
word. Her uncle, of whose voice she was always in fear,
seemed to be more cross, and when he did speak, more
sarcastic than ever. He asked her whether she intended to
go back to Littlebath.

"I think not," said she.

" Then that has been a failure, I suppose," said the old
man.

" Everything is a failure, I think," said she, with tears in
her eyes.

This was in the drawing-room, and immediately her
cousin John came and sat by her. He came and sat there,
as though he had intended to speak to her ; but he went
away again in a minute or two without having uttered a
word. Things went on in the same way till they moved off
to bed, and then the formal adieus for the night were made
with a coldness that amounted, on the part of Lady Ball,
almost to inhospitality.

" Good-night, Margaret," she said, as she just put out the
tip of her finger.

" Good-night, my dear," said Sir John. " I don't know
what's the matter with you, but you look as though you'd
been doing something that you were ashamed of."

Lady Ball was altogether injudicious in her treatment of
her niece. As to Sir John, it made probably very little
difference. Miss Mackenzie had perceived, when she first
came to the Cedars, that he was a cross old man, and that
he had to be endured as such by any one who chose to go
into that house. But she had depended on Lady Ball for
kindness of manner, and had been tempted to repeat her
visits to the house because her aunt had, after her fashion,
been gracious to her. But now there was rising in her
breast a feeling that she had better leave the Cedars as soon
as she could shake the dust off her feet, and see nothing
more of the Balls. Even the Rubb connection seemed to

LADY BALL'S GRIEVANCE. 205

her to be better than the Ball connection, and less exaggerated
in its greediness. Were it not for her cousin John, she
would have resolved to go on the morrow. She would have
faced the indignation of her aunt, and the cutting taunts of
her uncle, and have taken herself off at once to some lodging
in London. But John Ball had meant to be kind to her
when he came and sat close to her on the sofa, and her soft
heart relented towards him.

Lady Ball had in truth mistaken her niece's character.
She had found her to be unobtrusive, gentle, and unselfish ;
and had conceived that she must therefore be weak and
compliant. As to many things she was compliant, and as
to some things she was weak ; but there was in her com-
position a power of resistance and self-sustenance on which
Lady Ball had not counted. When conscious of absolute
ill-usage, she could fight well, and would not bow her neck
to any Mrs. Stumfold or to any Lady Ball.

MISS MACKENZIE,

CHAPTER XVH

MR. S LOW'S CHAMBERS.

SHE came down late to breakfast on the following morning,
not being present at prayers, and when she came down she
wore her bonnet.

" I got myself ready, John, for fear I should keep you
waiting."

Her aunt spoke to her somewhat more graciously than
on the preceding evening, and accepted her apology for
being late.

Just as she was about to start Lady Ball took her apart
and spoke one word to her.

" No one can tell you better what you ought to do than
your cousin John ; but pray remember that he is far too
generous to say a word for himself."

Margaret made no answer, and then she and her cousin
started on foot across the grounds to the station. The
distance was nearly a mile, and during the walk no word
was said between them about the money. They got into
the train that was to take them up to London, and sat
opposite to each other. It happened that there was no
passenger in either of the seats next to him or her, so that
there was ample opportunity for them to hold a private
conversation ; but Mr. Ball said nothing to her, and she,
not knowing how to begin, said nothing to him. In this
way they reached the London station at Waterloo Bridge,
and then he asked her what she proposed to do next.

" Shall we go to Mr. Slew's at once ? " she asked.

To this he assented, and at her proposition they agreed to

MR. SLOW'S CHAMBERS. 207

walk to the lawyer's chambers. These were on the north
side of Lincoln's Inn Fields, near the Turnstile, and Mr.
Ball remarked that the distance was again not much above
a mile. So they crossed the Strand together, and made
their way by narrow streets into Drury Lane, and then under
a certain archway into Lincoln's Inn Fields.

To Miss Mackenzie, who felt that something ought to be
said, the distance and time occupied seemed to be very
short.

" Why, this is Lincoln's Inn Fields ! " she exclaimed, as
she came out upon the west side.

" Yes ; this is Lincoln's Inn Fields, and Mr. Slew's
chambers are over there."

She knew well where Mr. Slew's chambers were situated,
but she paused on the pavement, not wishing to go thither
quite at once.

" John," she said, " I thought that perhaps we might have
talked over all this before we saw Mr. Slow."

" Talked over all what ? "

" About the money that I want to give to my brother's
family. Did not my aunt tell you of it ? "

" Yes ; she told me that you and she had differed."

" And she told you what about ? "

" Yes," said he, slowly ; " she told me what about."

"And what ought I to do, John ? "

As she asked the question she caught hold of the lappet
of his coat, and looked up into his face as though sup-
plicating him to give her the advantage of all his discretion
and all his honesty.

They were still standing on the pavement, where the
street comes out from under the archway. She was gazing
into his face, and he was looking away from her, over
towards the inner railings of the square, with heavy brow
and dull eye and motionless face. She was very eager, and
he seemed to be simply patient, but nevertheless he was
working hard with his thoughts, striving to determine how
best he might answer her. His mother had told him that
he might model this woman to his will, and had repeated to
him that story which he had heard so often of the wrong
that had been done to him by his uncle Jonathan. It
may be said that there was no need for such repetition,

208 MISS MACKENZIE.

as John Ball had himself always thought quite enough of
that injury. He had thought of it for the last twenty years,
almost hourly, till it was graven upon his very soul.
He had been a ruined, wretched, moody man, because of
his uncle Jonathan's will. There was no need, one would
have said, to have stirred him on that subject. But his
mother, on this morning, in the ten minutes before prayer-
time, had told him of it all again, and had told him also
that the last vestige of his uncle's money would now dis-
appear from him unless he interfered to save it.

" On this very day it must be saved ; and she will do
anything you tell her," said his mother. " She regards you
more than anyone else. If you were to ask her again now,
I believe she would accept you this very day. At any rate,
do not let those people have her money."

And yet he had not spoken to Margaret on the subject
during the journey, and would now have taken her to the
lawyer's chambers without a word, had she not interrupted
him and stopped him.

Nevertheless he had been thinking of his uncle, and his
uncle's will, and his uncle's money, throughout the morning.
He was thinking of it at that moment when she stopped
him, — thinking how hard it all was, how cruel that those
people in the New Road should have had and spent half
his uncle's fortune, and that now the remainder, which at
one time had seemed to be near the reach of his own
children, should also go to atone for the negligence and
fraud of those wretched Rubbs.

We all know with how strong a bias we regard our own
side in any question, and he regarded his side in this question
with a very strong bias. Nevertheless he had refrained
from a word, and would have refrained, had she not stopped
him.

When she took hold of him by the coat, he looked for a
moment into her face, and thought that in its trouble it was
very sweet. She leaned somewhat against him as she spoke,
and he wished that she would lean against him altogether.
There was about her a quiet power of endurance, and at the
same time a comeliness and a womanly softness which seemed
to fit her altogether for his wants and wishes. As he looked
with his dull face across into the square, no physiognomist

MR. SLOW'S CHAMBERS. 209

would have declared of him that at that moment he was
suffering from love, or thinking of a woman that was dear
to him. But it was so with him, and the physiognomist,
had one been there, would have been wrong. She had now
asked him a question, which he was bound to answer in
some way — " What ought I to do, John ? "

He turned slowly round and walked with her, away from
their destination, round by the south side of the square, and
then up along the blank wall on the east side, nearly to the
passage into Holborn, and back again all round the enclosed
space. She, while she was speaking to him and listening to
him, hardly remembered where she was or whither she was
going.

" I thought," said he, in answer to her question, " that
you intended to ask Mr. Slew's advice ? "

" I didn't mean to do more than tell him what should be
done. He is not a friend, you know, John."

"It's customary to ask lawyers their advice on such
subjects."

"I'd rather have yours, John. But, in truth, what I
want you to say is, that I am right in doing this ; — right in
keeping my promise to my brother, and providing for his
children."

" Like most people, Margaret, you want to be advised to
follow your own counsels."

" God knows that I want to do right, John. I want to
do nothing else, John, but what's right. As to this money,
I care but little for it for myself."

" It is your own, and you have a right to enjoy it."

" I don't know much about enjoyment. As to enjoyment,
it seems to me to be pretty much the same whether a penson
is rich or poor. I always used to hear that money brought
care, and I'm sure I've found it so since I had any."

" You've got no children, Margaret."

" No ; but there are all those orphans. Am I not bound
to look upon them as mine, now that he has gone ? If they
don't depend on me, whom are they to depend on ? "

" If your mind is made up, Margaret, I have nothing to

say against it. You know what my wishes are. They are

just the same now as when you were last with us. It isn't

only for the money I say this, though, of course, that must

14

S10 MISS MACKENZIE.

go a long way with a man circumstanced as I am ; but,
Margaret, I love you dearly, and if you can make up your
mind to be my wife, I would do my best to make you happy."

"I hadn't meant you to talk in that way, John," said
Margaret.

But she was not much flurried. She was now so used to
these overtures that they did not come to her as much out
of the common way. And she gave herself none of that
personal credit which women are apt to take to themselves
when they find that they are often sought in marriage. She
looked upon her lovers as so many men to whom her income
would be convenient, and felt herself to be almost under an
obligation to them for their willingness to put up with the
incumbrance which was attached to it.

" But it's the only way I can talk when you ask me about
this," said he. Then he paused for a moment before he
added, " How much is it you wish to give to your brother's
widow ? "

" Half what I've got left."

" Got left ! You haven't lost any of your money ; have
you, Margaret ? "

Then she explained to him the facts as to the loan, and
took care to explain to him also, very fully, the compensatory
fact of the purchase by the railway company. " And my
promise to him was made after I had lent it, you know," she
urged.

" I do think it ought to be deducted ; I do indeed," he
Baid. " I am not speaking in my own behalf now, or for the
sake of my children, but simply as a man of business. As
for myself, though I do think I have been hardly used in the
matter of my uncle's money, I'll try to forget it. I'll try at
any rate to do without it. When I first knew you, and
found, — found that I liked you so much, I own that I did
have hopes. But if it must not be, there shall be an end of
that. The children won't starve, I suppose."

" Oh, John ! "

" As for me, I won't hanker after your money. But, for
your own sake, Margaret "

" There will be more than enough for me, you know ; and,
John "

She was going to make him some promise ; to tell him

MB. SLOW'S CHAMBERS. 211

something of her intention towards his son, and to make
some tender of assistance to himself ; being now in that
mind to live on the smallest possible pittance, of which I
have before spoken, when he ceased speaking or listening,
and hurried her on to the attorney's chambers.

" Do what you like with it. It is your own," said he.
" And we shall do no good by talking about it any longer
out here."

So at last they made their way up to Mr. Slow's rooms,
on the first floor in the old house in Lincoln's Inn Fields,
and were informed that that gentleman was at home.
Would they be pleased to sit down in the waiting-room ?

There is, I think, no sadder place in the world than the
waiting-room attached to an attorney's chambers in London.
In this instance it was a three-cornered room, which had got
itself wedged in between the house which fronted to Lincoln's
Inn Fields, and some buildings in a narrow lane that ran at
the back of the row. There was no carpet in it, and hardly
any need of one, as the greater part of the floor was strewed
with bundles of dusty papers. There was a window in it,
which looked out from the point of the further angle against
the wall of the opposite building. The dreariness of this
aspect had been thought to be too much for the minds
of those who waited, and therefore the bottom panes had
been clouded, so that there was in fact no power of
looking out at all. Over the fireplace there was a table
of descents and relationship, showing how heirship went;
and the table was very complicated, describing not only
the heirship of ordinary real and personal property, but
also explaining the wonderful difficulties of gavelkind,
and other mysteriously traditional laws. But the table
was as dirty as it was complicated, and the ordinary
waiting reader could make nothing of it. There was a
small table in the room, near the window, which was
always covered with loose papers ; but these loose papers
were on this occasion again covered with sheets of parch-
ment, and a pale-faced man, of about thirty, whose beard
had never yet attained power to do more than sprout,
was sitting at the table, and poring over the parchments.
Bound the room, on shelves, there was a variety of iron
boxes, on which were written the names of Mr. Slow's
14— 2

212 ifISS MACKENZIE.

clients ; — of those clients whose property justified them
in having special boxes of their own. But these boxes
were there, it must be supposed, for temporary purposes,
— purposes which might be described as almost per-
manently temporary, — for those boxes which were allowed
to exist in absolute permanence of retirement, were kept
in an iron room down stairs, the trap-door into which
had yawned upon Miss Mackenzie as she was shown into
the waiting-room. There was, however, one such box
open, on the middle of the floor, and sundry of the
parchments which had been taken from it were lying
around it.

There were but two chairs in the room besides the one
occupied by the man at the table, and these were taken
by John Ball and his cousin. She sat herself down, armed
with patience, indifferent to the delay and indifferent to
the dusty ugliness of everything around her, as women
are on such occasions. He, thinking much of his time,
and somewhat annoyed at being called upon to wait,
sat with his chin resting on his umbrella between his
legs, and as he did so he allowed his eyes to roam around
among the names upon the boxes. There was nothing on
any one of those up on the shelves that attracted him. There

was the Marquis of B , and Sir C. D , and the

Dowager Countess of B— . Seeing this, he speculated

mildly whether Mr. Slow put forward the boxes of his
aristocratic customers to show how well he was doing in
the world. But presently his eye fell from the shelf and
settled upon the box on the floor. There, on that box, he
saw the name of Walter Mackenzie.

This did not astonish him, as he immediately said to
himself that these papers were being searched with reference
to the business on which his cousin was there that day ; but
suddenly it occurred to him that Margaret had given him to
understand that Mr. Slow did not expect her. He stepped
over to her, therefore, one step over the papers, and asked
her the question, whispering it into her ear.

" No," said she, " I had no appointment. I don't think
he expects me."

He returned to his seat, and again sitting down with his
chin on the top of his umbrella, surveyed the parchments

MB. SLOW's CHAMBERS. 213

that lay upon the ground. Upon one of them, that was not
far from his feet, he read the outer endorsement, written as
such endorsements always are, in almost illegible old English
letters : —

"Jonathan Ball, to John Ball, junior.— Deed of Gift."

But, after all, there was nothing more than a coincidence
in this. Of course Mr. Slow would have in his possession
all the papers appertaining to the transfer of Jonathan
Ball's property to the Mackenzies ; or, at any rate, such as
referred to Walter's share of it. Indeed, Mr. Slow, at the
time of Jonathan Ball's death, acted for the two brothers,
and it was probable that all the papers would be with him.
John Ball had known that there had been some intention on
his uncle's part, before the quarrel between his father and
his uncle, to make over to him, on his coming of age, a
Certain property in London, and he had been told that the
money which the Mackenzies had inherited had ultimately
come from this very property. His uncle had been an
eccentric, quarrelsome man, prone to change his mind often,
and not regardful of money as far as he himself was con-
cerned. John Ball remembered to have heard that his uncle
had intended him to become possessed of certain property
in his own right the day that he became of age, and that
this had all been changed because of the quarrel which had
taken place between his uncle and his father. His father
now never spoke of this, and for many years past had seldom
mentioned it. But from his mother he had often heard of
the special injury which he had undergone.

" His uncle," she had said, " had given it, and had taken
it back again ; — had taken it ba6k that he might waste it
on those Mackenzies."

All this he had heard very often, but he had never known
anything of a deed of gift. Was it not singular, he thought,
that the draft of such a deed should be lying at his foot at
this moment.

He showed nothing of this in his face, and still sat there
with his chin resting on his umbrella. But certainly
stronger ideas than usual of the great wrongs which he had
suffered did come into his head as he looked upon the
paper at his feet. He began to wonder whether he would
be justified in taking it up and inspecting it- But as he

214 MISS MACKENZIE.

was thinking of this the pale-faced man rose from his
chair, and after moving among the papers on the ground
for an instant, selected this very document, and carried
it with him to his table. Mr. Ball, as his eyes followed
the parchment, watched the young man dust it and open
it, and then having flattened it with his hand, glance
over it till he came to a certain spot. The pale-faced
clerk, accustomed to such documents, glanced over the
ambages, the " whereases," the " aforesaids," the rich ex-
uberance of " admors.," " exors.," and " assigns," till he
deftly came to the pith of the matter, and then he began
to make extracts, a date here and a date there. John
Ball watched him all the time, till the door was opened,
and old Mr. Slow himself appeared in the room.

He stepped across the papers to shake hands with his
client, and then shook hands also with Mr. Ball, whom he
knew. His eye glanced at once down to the box, and after
that over towards the pale-faced clerk. Mr. Ball perceived
that the attorney had joined in his own mind the operation
that was going on with these special documents, and the
presence of these two special visitors ; and that he, in some
measure, regretted the coincidence. There was something
wrong, and John Ball began to consider whether the old
lawyer could be an old scoundrel. Some lawyers, he knew,
were desperate scoundrels. He said nothing, however ;
but, obeying Mr. Slow's invitation, followed him and his
cousin into the sanctum sanctorum of the chambers.

" They didn't tell me you were here at first," said the
lawyer, in a tone of vexation, " or I wouldn't have had you
shown in there."

John Ball thought that this was, doubtless, true, and that
very probably they might not have been put in among those
papers had Mr. Slow known what was being done.

" The truth is," continued the lawyer, " the Duke of

F 's man of business was with me, and they did not like

to interrupt me."

Mr. Slow was a grey-haired old man, nearer eighty than
seventy, who, with the exception of a fortnight's holidays
every year which he always spent at Margate, had attended
those same chambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields daily for the
last sixty years. He was a stout, thickset man, very leisurely

MR. SLOW'S CHAMBERS. 215

in all his motions, who walked slowly, talked slowly, read
slowly, wrote slowly, and thought slowly ; bat who, never-
theless, had the reputation of doing a great deal of business,
and doing it very well. He had a partner in the business
almost as old as himself, named Bideawhile ; and they who
knew them both used to speculate which of the two was the
most leisurely. It was, however, generally felt, that, though
Mr. Slow was the slowest in his speech, Mr. Bideawhile was
the longest in getting anything said. Mr. Slow would often
beguile his time with unnecessary remarks ; but Mr. Bide-
awhile was so constant in beguiling his time, that men
wondered how, in truth, he ever did anything at all. Of
both of them it may be said that no men stood higher in
their profession, and that Mr. Ball's suspicions, had they
been known in the neighbourhood of Lincoln's Inn, would
have been scouted as utterly baseless. And, for the comfort
of my readers, let me assure them that they were utterly
baseless. There might, perhaps, have been a little vanity
about Mr. Slow as to the names of his aristocratic clients ;
but he was an honest, painstaking man, who had ever dona
his duty well by those who had employed him.

Is it not remarkable that the common repute which we all
give to attorneys in the general is exactly opposite to that
«vhich every man gives to his own attorney in particular ?
Whom does anybody trust so implicitly as he trusts his own
attorney ? And yet is it not the case that the body of
attorneys is supposed to be the most roguish body in exist-
ence ?

The old man seemed now to be a little fretful, and said
something more about his sorrow at their having been sent
into that room.

" We are so crowded," he said, " that we hardly know how
to stir ourselves."

Miss Mackenzie said it did not signify in the least. Mr.
Ball said nothing, but seated himself with his chin again
resting on his umbrella.

"I was sorry to see in the papers an account of your
brother's death," said Mr. Slow.

" Yes, Mr. Slow j he has gone, and left a wife and very
large family."

" I hope they are provided for, Miss Mackenzie."

216 MISS MACKENZIE.

"No, indeed; they are not provided for at all. My
brother had not been fortunate in business."

" And yet he went into it with a large capital, — with a
large capital in such a business as that."

John Ball, with his chin on the umbrella, said nothing.
He said nothing, but he winced as he thought whence the
capital had come. And he thought, too, of those much-
meaning words : " Jonathan Ball to John Ball, junior. —
Deed of gift."

"He had been unfortunate," said Miss Mackenzie, in an
apologetic tone.

" And what will you do about your loan ? " said Mr.
Slow, looking over to John Ball when he asked the question,
as though inquiring whether all Miss Mackenzie's affairs
were to be talked over openly in the presence of that
gentleman.

" That was a gift," said Miss Mackenzie.

" A deed of gift," thought John Ball to himself. " A deed
of gift ! "

" Oh, indeed ! Then there's an end of that, I suppose,"
said Mr. Slow.

" Exactly so. I have been explaining to my cousin all
about it. I hope the firm will be able to pay my sister-in-
law the interest of it, but that does not seem sure."

" I am afraid I cannot help you there, Miss Mackenzie."

" Of course not. I was not thinking of it. But what I've
come about is this." Then she told Mr. Slow the whole of
her project with reference to her fortune ; how, on his death-
bed, she had promised to give half of all that she had to her
brother's wife and family, and how she had come there to
him, with her cousin, in order that he might put her in the
way of keeping her promise.

Mr. Slow sat in silence and patiently heard her to the
end. She, finding herself thus encouraged to speak, ex-
patiated on the solemnity of her promise, and declared that
she could not be comfortable till she had done all that she
had undertaken to perform. " And I shall have quite enough
for myself afterwards, Mr. Slow, quite enough."

Mr. Slow did not say a word till she had done, and even
then he seemed to delay his speech. John Ball never raised
his face from his umbrella, but sat looking at the lawyer,

MR. SLOW'S CHAMBERS. 217

whom he still suspected of roguery. And if the lawyer were
a rogue, what then about his cousin ? It must not be
supposed that he suspected her; but what would come of
her, if the fortune she held were, in truth, not her own ? "

" I have told my cousin all about it," continued Margaret,
" and I believe that he thinks I am doing right. At any
rate, I would do nothing without his knowing it."

" I think she is giving her sister-in-law too much," said
John Ball.

" I am only doing what I promised," urged Margaret.

"I think that the money which she lent to the firm
should, at any rate, be deducted," said John Ball, speaking
this with a kind of proviso to himself, that the words
so spoken were intended to be taken as having any
meaning only on the presumption that that document
which he had seen in the other room should turn out to
be wholly inoperative and inefficient at the present moment.
In answer to these side-questions or corollary points as
to the deduction or non-deduction of the loan, Mr. Slow-
answered not a word ; but when there was silence between
them, he did make answer as to the original proposition.

"Miss Mackenzie," he said, "I think you had better
postpone doing anything in this matter for the present."

" Why postpone it ? " said she.

" Your brother's death is very recent. It happened not
above a fortnight since, I think."

" And I want to have this settled at once, so that there
shall be no distress. What's the good of waiting ? "

" Such things want thinking of, Miss Mackenzie."

"But I have thought of it. All I want now is to have it
done."

A slight smile came across the puckered grey face of the
lawyer as he felt the imperative nature of the instruction
given to him. The lady had come there not to be advised,
but to have her work done for her out of hand. But the
smile was very melancholy, and soon passed away.

" Is the widow in immediate distress ? " asked Mr. Slow.

Now the fact was that Miss Mackenzie herself had been
in good funds, having had ready money in her hands from
the time of her brother Walter's death ; and for the last
year she had by no means spent her full income. She had,

218 MISS MACKENZIE.

therefore, given her sister-in-law money, and had paid the
small debts which had come in, as such small debts will
come in, directly the dead man's body was under ground.
Nay, some had come in and had been paid while the man
was yet dying. She explained, therefore, that her sister-in-
law was not absolutely in immediate want.

" And does she keep the house ? " asked the lawyer.

Then Miss Mackenzie explained that Mrs. Tom intended,
if possible, to keep the house, and to take some lady to lodge
with her.

" Then there cannot be any immediate hurry," urged the
lawyer ; " and as the sum of money in question is large, I
really think the matter should be considered."

But Miss Mackenzie still pressed it. She was very anxious
to make him understand, — and of course he did understand
at once, — that she had no wish to hurry him in his work.
All that she required of him was an assurance that he
accepted her instructions, and that the thing should be done
with not more than the ordinary amount of legal delay.

" You can pay her what you like out of your own income,"
said the lawyer.

"But that is not what I promised," said Margaret
Mackenzie.

Then there was silence among them all. Mr. Ball had
said very little since he had been sitting in that room, and
now it was not he who broke the silence. He was still
thinking of that deed of gift, and wondering whether it had
anything to do with Mr. Slew's unwillingness to undertake
the commission which Margaret wished to give him. At
last Mr. Slow got up from his chair, and spoke as follows :

" Mr. Ball, I hope you will excuse me ; but I have a word
or two to say to Miss Mackenzie, which I had rather say to
her alone."

" Certainly," said Mr. Ball, rising and preparing to go.

" You will wait for me, John," said Miss Mackenzie, asking
this favour of him as though she were very anxious that he
should grant it.

Mr. Slow said that he might be closeted with Miss
Mackenzie for some little time, perhaps for a quarter of an
hour or twenty minutes. John Ball looked at his watch,
and then at his cousin's face, and then promised that he

MB. SLOW'S CHAMBERS. 219

would wait. Mr, Slow himself took him into the outer
office, and then handed him a chair ; but he observed that
he was not allowed to go back into the waiting-room.

There he waited for three-quarters of an hour, constantly
looking at his watch, and thinking more and more about
that deed of gift. Surely it must be the case that the
document which he had seen had some reference to this
great delay. At last he heard a door open, and a step along
a passage, and then another door was opened, and Mr. Slow
reappeared with Margaret Mackenzie behind him. John
Ball's eyes immediately fell on his cousin's face, and he could
see that it was very pale. The lawyer's wore that smile
which men put on when they wish to cover the disagreeable
seriousness of the moment.

" Good morning, Miss Mackenzie," said he, pressing his
client's hand.

" Good morning, Sir," said she.

The lawyer and Mr. Ball then touched each other's hands,
and the former followed his cousin down the steps out into
the square.

220 MISS MACKEHZJ3.

CHAPTER XV111.

TRIBULATION.

WHEN they were once more out in the square, side by
side, Miss Mackenzie took hold of her cousin's arm and
walked on for a few steps in silence, in the direction of Great
Queen Street, — that is to say, away from the city, towards
which she knew her cousin would go in pursuit of his own
business. And indeed the hour was now close at hand in
which he should be sitting as a director at the Shadrach
Fire Assurance Office. If not at the Shadrach by two, or,
with all possible allowance for the shortcoming of a
generally punctual director, by a quarter past two, he would
be too late for his guinea ; and now, as he looked at his
watch, it wanted only ten minutes to two. He was very
particular about these guineas, and the chambers of the
Shadrach were away in Old Broad Street. Nevertheless he
walked on with her.

" John," she said, when they had walked half the length
of that side of the square, "I have heard dreadful news."

Then that deed of gift was, after all, a fact; and Mr.
Slow, instead of being a rogue, must be the honestest old
lawyer in London ! He must have been at work in dis-
covering the wrong that had been done, and was now about
to reveal it to the world. Some such idea as this had
glimmered across Mr. Ball's mind as he had sat in Mr.
Slow's outer office, with his chin still resting on his um-
brella.

But though some such idea as this did cross his mind, his
thought on the instant was of his cousin.

TfclBtJLATlOff. 221

" What dreadful news, Margaret ? "

" It is about my money."

" Stop a moment, Margaret. Are you sure that you ought
to tell it to me ? "

" If I don't, to whom shall I tell it ? And how can I
bear it without telling it to some one ? "

" Did Mr. Slow bid you speak of it to me ? "

" No ; he bade me think much of it before I did so, as
you are concerned. And he said that you might perhaps be
disappointed."

Then they walked on again in silence. John Ball found
his position to be very difficult, and hardly knew how to
speak to her, or how to carry himself. If it was to be that
this money was to come back to him ; if it was his now
in spite of all that had come and gone ; if the wrong done
was to be righted, and the property wrested from him was
to be restored, — restored to him who wanted it so sorely, — •
how could he not triumph in such an act of tardy restitution ?
He remembered all the particulars at this moment. Twelve
thousand pounds of his uncle Jonathan's money had gone
to Walter Mackenzie. The sum once intended for him had
been much more than that, — more he believed than double
that ; but if twelve thousand pounds was now restored to
him, how different would it make the whole tenor of his
life ; Mr. Slow said that he might be disappointed ; but
then Mr. Slow was not his lawyer. Did he not owe it to
his family immediately to go to his own attorney ? Now
he thought no more of his guinea at the Shadrach, but
walked on by his cousin's side with his mind intently
fixed on his uncle's money. She was still leaning on his
arm.

" Tell me, John, what shall I do ? " said she, looking up
into his face.

Would it not be better for them, better for the interests
of them both, that they should be separated ? Was it
probable, or possible, that with interests so adverse, they
should give each other good advice ? Did it not behove him
to explain to her that till this should be settled between
them, they must necessarily regard each other as enemies ?
For a moment or two he wished himself away from her, and
was calculating how he might escape. But then, when

222 MISS MACKENZIE.

he looked down at her, and saw the softness of her eye,
and felt the confidence implied in the weight of her hand
upon his arm, his hard heart was softened, and he relented.

" It is difficult to tell you what you should do," he said.
" At present nothing seems to be known. He has said nothing
for certain."

" But I could understand him," she said, in reply ; " 1
could see by his face, and I knew by the tone of his voice,
that he was almost certain. . I know that he is sure of
it. John, I shall be a beggar, an absolute beggar. I shall
have nothing ; and those poor children will be beggars, and
their mother. I feel as though I did not know where I am,
or what I am doing."

Then an idea came into his head. If this money was
not hers, it was his. If it was not his, then it was hers.
Would it not be well that they should solve all the difficulty
by agreeing then and there to be man and wife ? It was
true that since his Rachel's death he had seen no woman
whom he so much coveted to have in his home as this one
who now leaned on his arm. But, as he thought of it,
there seemed to be a romance about such a step which would
not befit him. What would his mother and father say to
him if, after all his troubles, he was at last to marry a
woman without a farthing ? And then, too, would she con-
sent to give up all further consideration for her brother's
family ? Would she agree to abandon her idea of assisting
them, if ultimately it should tarn out that the property
was hers ? No ; there was certainly a looseness about such
a plan which did not befit him ; and, moreover, were he
to attempt it, he would probably not succeed.

But something must be done, now at this moment. The
guinea at the Shadrach was gone for ever, and therefore he
could devote himself for the day to his cousin.

" Are you to hear again from Mr. Slow ? " he said.

" I am to go to him this day week."

" And then it will be decided ? "

" John, it is decided now ; I am sure of it. I feel that
it is all gone. A careful man like that would never have
spoken as he did, unless he was sure. It will be all yours, John."

" So would have been that which your brother had,"
said }>«,

TRIBULATION. 228

"I suppose so. It is dreadful to think of; very dreadful.
I can only promise that I will spend nothing till it is decided.
John, I wish you would take from me what I have, lest it
should go." And she absolutely had her hand upon her
purse in her pocket.

" No," said he slowly, " no ; you need think of nothing of
that sort."

" But what am I to do ? Where am I to go while this
week passes by ? "

" You will stay where you are, of course."

" Oh John ! if you could understand ! How am I to look
my aunt in the face ? Don't you know that she would not
wish to have me there at all if I was a poor creature without
anything ? " The poor creature did not know herself how
terribly heavy was the accusation she was bringing against
her aunt. " And what will she say when she knows
that the money I have spent has never really been my
own ? "

Then he counselled her to say nothing about it to her
aunt till after her next visit to Mr. Slew's, and made her
understand that he, himself, would not mention the subject
at the Cedars till the week was passed. He should go, he
said, to his own lawyer, and tell him the whole story as
far as he knew it. It was not that he in the least doubted
Mr. Slew's honesty or judgment, but it would be better
that the two should act together. Then when the week
was over, he and Margaret would once more go to Lincoln's
Inn Fields.

" What a week I shall have ! " said she.

" It will be a nervous time for us both," he answered.

" And what must I do after that ? " This question she
asked, not in the least as desirous of obtaining from him
any assurance of assistance, but in the agony of her spirit,
and in sheer dismay as to her prospects.

" We must hope for the best," he said. " God tempers
the wind to the shorn lamb." He had often thought of the
way in which he had been shorn, but he did not, at this
moment, remember that the shearing had never been so
tempered as to be acceptable to his own feelings.

"And in God ionly can I trust," she answered. As she
gaid this, her mind went away to Littlebath, and the Stum-

224 MISS MACKENZIE.

foldians, and Mr. Maguire. Was there not great mercy
in the fact, that this ruin had not found her. married to that
unfortunate clergyman ? And what would they all say at
Littlebath when they heard the story ? How would Mrs.
Stumfold exult over the downfall of the woman who had
rebelled against her ! how would the nose of the coach-
maker's wife rise in the air ! and how would Mr. Maguire
rejoice that this great calamity had not fallen upon him !
Margaret Mackenzie's heart and spirit had been sullied by
no mean feeling with reference to her own wealth. It
had never puffed her up with exaltation. But she calculated
on the meanness of others, as though it was a matter of
course, nofc, indeed, knowing that it was meanness, or blaming
them in any way for that which she attributed to them.
Four gentlemen had wished to marry her during the past
year. It never occured to her now, that any one of
these four would on that account hold out a hand to
help her. In losing her money she would have lost all that
was desirable in their eyes, and this seemed to her to be
natural.

They were still walking round Lincoln's Inn Fields.
" John," she exclaimed suddenly, " I must go to them in
Gower Street."

"What, now, to-day?"

" Yes, now, immediately. You need not mind me ;
I can get back to Twickenham by myself. I know the
trains."

" If I were you, Margaret, I would not go till all this is
decided."

" It is decided, John ; I know it is. And how can I leave
them in such a condition, spending money which they will
never get ? They must know it some time, and the sooner
the better. Mr. Bubb must know it too. He must under-
stand that he is more than ever bound to provide them with
an income out of the business."

" I would not do it to-day if I were you."

" But I must, John ; this very day. If I am not home
by dinner, tell them that I had to go to Gower Street. I
shall at any rate be there in the evening. Do not you mind
coming back with me."

They were then at the gate leading into the New Square,

TRIBULATION. 225

and she turned abruptly round, and hurried away from him
up into Holborn, passing very near to Mr. Slew's chambers.
John Ball did not attempt to follow her, but stood there
awhile looking after her. He felt, in his heart, and knew
by his judgment, that she was a good woman, true, un-
selfish, full of love, clever too in her way, quick in appre-
hension, and endowed with an admirable courage. He
had heard her spoken of at the Cedars as a poor creature
who had money. Nay, he himself had taken a part in so
speaking of her. Now she had no money, but he knew well
that she was a creature the very reverse of poor. What
should he do for her ? In what way should he himself be-
have towards her ? In the early days of his youth, before
the cares of the world had made him hard, he had married
his Rachel without a penny, and his father had laughed at
him, and his mother had grieved over him. Tough and
hard, and careworn as he was now, defiled by the price
of stocks, and saturated with the poison of the money
market, then there had been in him a touch of romance and
a dash of poetry, and he had been happy with his Rachel.
Should he try it again now ? The woman would surely love
him when she found that he came to her in her poverty as
he had before come to her in her wealth. He watched her
till she passed out of his sight along the wall leading to
Holborn, and then he made his way to the City through
Lincoln's Inn and Chancery Lane.

Margaret walked straight into Holborn, and over it to-
wards Red Lion Square. She crossed the line of the omni-
buses, feeling that now she must spend no penny which she
could save. She was tired, for she had already walked
much that morning, and the day was close and hot ; but
nevertheless she went on quickly, through Bloomsbury
Square and Russell Square, to Gower Street. As she got
near to the door her heart almost failed her ; but she went
up to it and knocked boldly. The thing should be done, let
the pain of doing it be what it might.

" Laws, Miss Margaret ! is that you ? " said the maid.

" Yes, missus is at home. She'll see you, of course, but
she's hard at work on the furniture."

Then she went directly up into the drawing-room and
there she found her sister-in-law, with her dress tucked
15

226 MISS MACKENZIE.

up to her elbows, with a cloth in her hand, rubbing the
chairs.

" What, Margaret ! Whoever expected to see you ? If
we are to let the rooms, it's as well to have the things tidy,
isn't it ? Besides, a person bears it all the better when
there's anything to do."

Then Mary Jane, the eldest daughter, came in from
the bed-room behind the drawing-room, similarly armed for
work.

Margaret sat down wearily upon the sofa, having muttered
some word in answer to Mrs. Tom's apology for having been
found at work so soon after her husband's death.

" Sarah," she said, " I have come to you to-day because i.
had something to say to you about business."

" Oh, to be sure ! I never thought for a moment you had
come for pleasure, or out of civility, as it might be. Of
course I didn't expect that when I saw you."

" Sarah, will you come up stairs with me into your own
room ? "

" Up stairs, Margaret ? Oh yes, if you please. We shalJ
be down directly, my dear, and I dare say Margaret will stay
to tea. We tea early, because, since you went, we have
dined at one."

Then Mrs. Tom led the way up to the room in which
Margaret had watched by her dying brother's bed-side.

"I'm come in here," said Mrs. Tom, again apologising,
because the children had to come out of the room behind
the drawing-room. Miss Colza is staying with us, and she
and Mary Jane have your room."

Margaret did not care much for all this ; but the solemnity
of the chamber in which, when she last saw it, her
brother's body was lying, added something to her sadness
at the moment.

" Sarah," she said, endeavouring to warn her sister-in-law
by the tone of her voice that her news was bad news, " I
have just come from Mr. Slow."

" He's the lawyer, isn't he ? "

" Yes, he's the lawyer. You know what I promised
my brother* I went to him to make arrangements for
doing it, and when there I heard, — oh Sarah, such dreadful

TRIBULATION. 227

" He says you're not to do it, I suppose ! " And in the
woman's voice and eyes there were signs of anger, not
against Mr. Slow alone, but also against Miss Mackenzie.
" I knew how it would be. But, Margaret, Mr. Slow has
got nothing to do with it. A promise is a promise j and a
promise made to a dying man ! Oh, Margaret ! "

" If I had it to give I would give it as surely as I am
standing here. When I told my brother it should be so, he
believed me at once."

" Of course he believed you."

"But Sarah, they tell me now that I have nothing to
give."

" Who tells you so ? "

" The lawyer. I cannot explain it all to you ; indeed, I
do not as yet understand it myself; but I have learned this
morning that the property which Walter left me was not
his to leave. It had been given away before Mr. Jonathan
Ball died."

" It's a lie ! " said the injured woman, — the woman who
was the least injured, but who, with her children, had
perhaps the best excuse for being ill able to bear the injury.
" It must be a lie. It's more than twenty years ago. I
don't believe and won't believe that it can be so. John
Ball must have something to do with this."

" The property will go to him, but he has had nothing to
do with it. Mr. Slow found it out."

" It can't be so, not after twenty years. Whatever they
may have done from Walter, they can't take it away from
you ; not if you've spirit enough to stand up for your rights.
If you let them take it in that way, I can't tell you what I
shall think of you."

" It is my own lawyer that says so."

"Yes, Mr. Slow ; the biggest rogue of them all. I always
knew that of him, always. Oh, Margaret, think of the
children ! What are we to do ? What are we to do ? "
And, sitting down on the bed-side, she put her dirty apron
up to her eyes.

"I have been thinking of them ever since I heard it,"
said Margaret.

" But what good will thinking do ? You must do some-
thing. Oh ! Margaret, after all that you said to him when
15—2

228 MISS MACKENZIE.

he lay there dying ! " and the woman, with some approach
to true pathos, put her hand on the spot where her
husband's head had rested. " Don't let his children
come to beggary because men like that choose to rob the
widow and the orphan."

" Every one has a right to what is his own," said Mar-
garet. "Even though widows should be beggars, and orphans
should want."

" That's very well of you, Margaret. It's very well for
you to say that, who have friends like the Balls to stand by
you. And, perhaps, if you will let him have it all without
saying anything, he will stand by you firmer than ever. But
who is there to stand by me and my children ? It can't be
that after twenty years your fortune should belong to any.
one else. Why should it have gone on for more than twenty
years, and nobody have found it out ? I don't believe it can
come so, Margaret, unless you choose to let them do it. I
don't believe a word of it."

There was nothing more to be said upon that subject at
present. Mrs. Tom did indeed say a great deal more
about it, sometimes threatening Margaret, and sometimes
imploring her ; but Miss Mackenzie herself would not allow
herself to speak of the thing otherwise than as an ascertained
fact. Had the other woman been more reasonable or less
passionate in her lamentations Miss Mackenzie might have
trusted herself to tell her that there was yet a doubt. But
she herself felt that the doubt was so small, and that, in
Mrs. Tom's mind, it would be so magnified into nearly a
certainty on the other side, that she thought it most discreet,
not to refer to the exact amount of information which Mr. Slow
had given to her.

" It will be best for us to think, Sarah," she said, trying
to turn the other's mind away from the coveted income which
she would never possess, — "to think what you and the
children had better do."

"Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! oh, dear ! "

" It is very bad ; but there is always something to be
done. We must lose no time in letting Mr. Rubb know the
truth. When he hears how it is, he will understand that
something must be done for you out of the firm."

" He won't do anything. He's down stairs now, flirting

TRIBULATION. 229

with that girl in the drawing-room, instead of being at his
business."

" If he's down stairs, I will see him."

As Mrs. Mackenzie made no objection to this, Margaret
we*t down stairs, and when she came near the passage at
the bottom, she heard the voices of people talking merrily
in the parlour. As her hand was on the lock of
the door, words from Miss Colza became very audible.
" Now, Mr. Rubb, be quiet." So she knocked at the door,
and having been invited by Mr. Rubb to come in, she
opened it.

It may be presumed that the flirting had not gone to any
perilous extent, as there were three or four children present.
Nevertheless Miss Colza and Mr. Rubb were somewhat
disconcerted, and expressed their surprise at seeing Miss
Mackenzie.

" We all thought you were staying with the baronet's
lady," said Miss Colza.

Miss Mackenzie explained that she was staying at
Twickenham, but that she had come up to pay a visit to
her sister-in-law. " And I've a word or two I want to say
to you, Mr. Rubb, if you'll allow me."

"I suppose, then, I'd better make myself scarce," said
Miss Colza.

As she was not asked to stay, she did make herself
scarce, taking the children with her up among the tables
and chairs in the drawing-room. There she found Mary
Jane, but she did not find Mrs. Mackenzie, who had thrown
herself on the bed in her agony up stairs.

Then Miss Mackenzie told her wretched story to Mr.
Rubb, — telling it for the third time. He was awe-struck as
he listened, but did not once attempt to deny the facts, as had
been done by Mrs. Mackenzie.

" And is it sure ? " he asked, when her story was
over.

" I don't suppose it is quite sure yet. Indeed, Mr. Slow
said it was not quite sure. But I have not allowed myself
to doubt it, and I do not doubt it."

" If he himself had not felt himself sure, he would not
have told you."

"Just so, Mr. Rubb. That is what I think; and

230 MISS MACKENZIE.

therefore I have given my sister-in-law no hint that
there is a chance left. I think you had better not do so
either."

" Perhaps not," said he. He spoke in a low voice, almost
whispering, as though he were half scared by the tidings he
had heard.

" It is very dreadful," she said ; " very dreadful for Sarah
and the children."

" And for you too, Miss Mackenzie."

" But about them, Mr. Rubb. What can you do for them
out of the business ? "

He looked very blank, and made no immediate answer.

" I know you will feel for their position," she said. " You
do ; do you not ? "

" Indeed I do, Miss Mackenzie."

" And you will do what you can. You can at any rate
ensure them the interest of the money, — of the money you
know that came from me."

Still Mr. Rubb sat in silence, and she thought that he
must be stony-hearted. Surely he might undertake to do
that, knowing, as he so well knew, the way in which the
money had been obtained, and knowing also that he had al-
ready said that so much should be forthcoming out of the
firm to make up a general income for the family of his late
partner.

"Surely there will be no doubt about that, Mr.
Rubb."

" The Balls will claim the debt," said he hoarsely ; and
then, in answer to her inquiries, he explained that the sum
she had lent had not, in truth, boon hers to lend. It had
formed part of the money that John Ball could claim, and
Mr. Slow held in his hands an acknowledgment of the debt
from Rubb and Mackenzie. Of course, Mr. Ball would claim
that the interest should be paid to him ; and he would
claim the principal too, if, on inquiry, he should find that
the firm would be able to raise it. " I don't know that
he wouldn't be able to come upon the firm for the money
your brother put into the business," said he gloomily. " But
I don't think he'll be such a fool as that. He'd get nothing
by it."

" Then may God help them ! " said Miss Mackenzie.

TRIBULATION. 231

" And what will you do ? " he asked.

She shook her head, but made him no answer. As for
herself she had not begun to form a plan. Her own con-
dition did not seem to her to be nearly so dreadful as that of
all these young children.

"I wish I knew how to help you," said Samuel Bubb.

" There are some positions, Mr. Bubb, in which no one
but God can help one. But, perhaps, — perhaps you may
still do something for the children."

" I will try, Miss Mackenzie."

" Thank you, and may God bless you ; and He will bless
you if you do try. ' Who giveth a drop of water to one
of them in my name, giveth it also to me.' You will think
of that, will you not ? "

"I will think of you, and do the best that I can."

" I had hoped to have made them so comfortable ! But
God's will be done ; God's will be done. I think I had better
go now, Mr. Bubb. There will be no use in my going to
her up stairs again. Tell her from me, with my love, that
she shall hear from me when I have seen the lawyer. I
will try to come to her, but perhaps I may not be able. Good-
bye, Mr. Bubb."

" Good-bye, Miss Mackenzie. I hope we shall see each other
sometimes."

" Perhaps so. Do what you can to support her. She
will want all that her friends can do for her." So saying
she went out of the room, and let herself out of the front
door into the street, and began her walk back to the Water-
loo Station.

She had not broken bread in her sister-in-law's house,
and it was now nearly six o'clock. She had taken nothing
since she had breakfasted at Twickenham, and the affairs
of the day had been such as to give her but little time
to think of such wants. But now as she made her weary
way through the streets she became sick with hunger,
and went into a baker's shop for a bun. As she ate it
she felt that it was almost wrong in her to buy even
that. At the present moment nothing that she possessed
seemed to her to be, by right, her own. Every shilling
in her purse was the property of John Ball, if Mr. Slew's
statement were ti»ue. Then, when the bun was finished,

232 MISS MACKENZIE.

as she went down by Bloomsbury church and the region
of St. Giles's back to the Strand, she did begin to
think of her own position. What should she do, and
how should she commence to do it ? She had declared
to herself but lately that the work for which she was
fittest was that of nursing the sick. Was it not possible
that she might earn her bread in this way? Could she
not find such employment in some quarter where her
labour would be worth the food she must eat and the
raiment she would require ? There was a hospital some-
where in London with which she thought she had heard
that John Ball was connected. Might not he obtain for
her a situation such as that ?

It was past eight when she reached the Cedars, and
then she was very tired, — very tired and nearly sick
also with want. She went first of all up to her room,
and then crept down into the drawing-room, knowing
that she should find them at tea. When she entered
there was a large party round the table, consisting of the
girls and children and Lady Ball. John Ball, who
never took tea, was sitting in his accustomed place near
the lamp, and the old baronet was half asleep in his arm-chair.

" If you were going to dine in Gower Street, Margaret,
why didn't you say so ? " said Lady Ball.

In answer to this, Margaret burst out into tears. It
was not the unkindness of her aunt's voice that upset her
so much as her own weakness, and the terrible struggle of
the long day.

" What on earth is the raster ? " said Sir John.

One of the girls brought her a cup of tea, but she felt
herself to be too weak to take it in her hand, and made a
sign that it should be put on the table. She was not aware
that she had ever fainted, but a fear came upon her that she
might do so now. She rallied herself and struggled, striving
to collect her strength.

" Do you know what is the matter with her, John ? "
said Lady Ball.

Then John Ball asked her if she had had dinner, and when
she did not answer him he saw how it was.

" Mother," he said, " she has had no food all day ; I will
get it for her."

TRIBULATION. 233

" If she wants anything, the servants can bring it to her,
John," said the mother.

But he would not trust the servants in this matter, but
went out himself and fetched her meat and wine, and
pressed her to take it, and sat himself beside her, and spoke
kind words into her ear, and at last, in some sort she was
comforted.

234* MISS MACKENZIE.

CHAPTER XIX.

SHOWING HOW TWO OF MISS MACKENZIE'S LOVERS BEH1YED,

MB. BALL, on his return home to the Cedars, had given
no definite answer to his mother's inquiries as to the day's
work in London, and had found it difficult to make any reply
to her that would for the moment suffice. She was not a
woman easily satisfied with evasive answers ; but, neverthe-
less, he told her nothing of what had occurred, and left her
simply in a bad humour. This conversation had taken place
before dinner, but after dinner she asked him another
question.

" John, you might as well tell me this ; are you engaged
to Margaret Mackenzie ? "

" No, I am not," said her son, angrily.

After that his mother's humour had become worse than
before, and in that state her niece had found her when
she returned home in the evening, and had suffered in con-
sequence.

On the next morning Miss Mackenzie sent down word to
say that she was not well, and would not come down to
breakfast. It so happened that John Ball was going into
town on this day also, the Abednego Life Office holding its
board day immediately after that of the Shadrach Eire
Office, and therefore he was not able to see her before she
encountered his mother. Lady Ball went up to her in her
bedroom immediately after breakfast, and there remained
with her for some time. Her aunt at first was tender with
her, giving her tea, and only asking her gentle little questions
at intervals j but as the old lady became impatient at learning

HOW MISS MACKENZIE'S LOVERS BEHAVED. 235

nothing, she began a system of cross-questions, and at last
grew to be angry and disagreeable. Her son had distinctly
told her that he was not engaged to his cousin, and had in
fact told her nothing else distinctly ; but she, when she had
seen how careful he had been in supplying Margaret's wants
himself, with what anxious solicitude he had pressed wine
on her ; how he had sat by her saying soft words to her ; —
Lady Ball, when she remembered this, could not but think
that her son had deceived her. And if so, why had he
wished to deceive her ? Could it be that he had allowed
her to give away half her money, and had promised to
marry her with the other half? There were moments in
which her dear son John could be very foolish, in spite of
that life-long devotion to the price of stocks, for which he
was conspicuous. She still remembered, as though it were
but the other day, how he had persisted in marrying
Rachel, though Rachel brought nothing with her but a
sweet face, a light figure, a happy temper, and the clothes
on her back. To all mothers their sons are ever young, and
to old Lady Ball John Ball was still young, and still, possibly,
capable of some such folly as that of which she was think-
ing. If it were not so, if there were not something of that
kind in the wind, why should he, — why should she, — be so
hard and uncommunicative in all their answers ? There lay
her niece, however, sick with the headache, and therefore
weak, and very much in Lady Ball's power. The evil to be
done was great, and the necessity for preventing it might be
immediate. And Lady Ball was a lady who did not like to
be kept in the dark in reference to anything concerning her
family. Having gone down stairs, therefore, for an hour or
so to look after her servants, or, as she had said, to allow
Margaret to have a little sleep, she returned again to the
charge, and sitting close to Margaret's pillow, did her best to
find out the truth.

If she Could only have known the whole truth ; how her
son's thoughts were running throughout the day, even as he
sat at the Abednego board, not on Margaret with half her
fortune, but on Margaret with none ! how he was recalling
the sweetness of her face as she looked up to him in the
square, and took him by his coat, and her tears as she spoke
of the orphan children, and the grace of her figure as she

236 MISS MACKENZIE.

had walked away from him, and the persistency of her courage
in doing what she thought to be right ! how he was strug-
gling within himself with an endeavour, a vain endeavour,
at a resolution that such a marriage as that must be out of
the question ! Had Lady Ball known all that, I think she
would have flown to the offices of the Abednego after her
son, and never have left him till she had conquered his heart
and trampled his folly under her feet.

But she did not conquer Margaret Mackenzie. The poor
creature lying there, racked, in truth, with pain and sorrow,
altogether incapable of any escape from her aunt's gripe,
would not say a word that might tend to ease Lady Ball's
mind. If she had told all that she knew, all that she sur-
mised, how would her aunt have rejoined ? That the money
should come without the wife would indeed have been a
triumph ! And Margaret in telling all would have had
nothing to tell of those terribly foolish thoughts which were
then at work in the City. To her such a state of things as
that which I have hinted would have seemed quite as im-
probable, quite as unaccountable, as it would have done to
her aunt. But she did not tell all, nor in truth did she tell
anything.

"And John was with you at the lawyer's," said
Lady Ball, attempting her cross-examination for the third
time.

" Yes ; he was with me there."

" And what did he say when you asked Mr. Slow to
make such a settlement as that ? "

"He didn't say anything, aunt. The whole thing was
put off."

" I know it was prut off ; of course it was put off.
I didn't suppose any respectable lawyer in London
would have dreamed of doing such a thing. But what
I want to know is, how it was put off. What did Mr. Slow
say?"

" I am to see him again next week."

" But not to get him to do anything of that kind ? "

" I can't tell, aunt, what he is to do then."

" But what did he say when you made such a proposition
as that ? Did he not tell you that it was quite out of the
question ? "

HOW MISS MACKENZIE'S LOVERS BEHAVED. 237

"I don't think he said that, aunt."

" Then what did he say ? Margaret, I never saw such a
person as you are. Why should you be so mysterious ?
There can't be anything you don't want me to know, seeing
how very much I am concerned ; and I do think you ought
to tell me all that occurred, knowing, as you do, that I have
done my very best to be kind to you."

" Indeed there isn't anything I can tell ; — not yet."

Then Lady Ball remained silent at the bed-head for the
space, perhaps, of ten minutes, meditating over it all. If
her son was, in truth, engaged to this woman, at any rate
she would find that out. If she asked a point-blank ques-
tion on that subject, Margaret would not be able to leave it
unanswered, and would hardly be able to give a directly
false answer.

" My dear," she said, " I think you will not refuse to tell
me plainly whether there is anything between you and John.
As his mother I have a right to know ? "

"How anything between us?" said Margaret, raising
herself on her elbow.

" Are you engaged to marry him ? "

"Oh, dear ! no."

" And there is nothing of that sort going on ? "

"Nothing at all."

" You are determined still to refuse him ? "

" It is quite out of the question, aunt. He does not wish
it at all. You may be sure that he has quite changed his
mind about it."

" But he won't have changed his mind if you have given
up your plan about your sister-in-law."

" He has changed it altogether, aunt. You needn't think
anything more about that. He thinks no more about it."

Nevertheless Le was thinking about it this very moment,
as he voted for accepting a doubtful life at the Abednego,
which was urged on the board by a director, who, I hope,
had no intimate personal relations with the owner of the
doubtful life in question.

Lady Ball did not know what to make of it. For many
years past she had not seen her son carry himself so
much like a lover as he had done when he sat himself beside
his cousin pressing her to drink her glass of sherry. Why

238 MISS MACKENZIE.

was he then so anxious for her comfort ? And why, before
that, had he been so studiously reticent as to her
affairs ?

"I can't make anything out of you," said Lady Ball,
getting up from her chair with angry alacrity ; " and I
must say that I think it very ungrateful of you, seeing all
that I have done for you."

So saying, she left the room.

What, oh, what would she think when she should come to
know the truth ? Margaret told herself as she lay there,
holding her head between her hands, that she was even now
occupying that room and enjoying the questionable comfort
of that bed under false pretences. When it was known
that she was absolutely a pauper, would she then be made
welcome to her uncle's house ? She was now remaining there
without divulging her circumstances, under the advice and
by the authority of her cousin ; and she had resolved to be
guided by him in all things as long as he would be at the
trouble to guide her. On whom else could she depend ? But,
nevertheless, her position was very grievous to her, and the
more so now that her aunt had twitted her with ingratitude.
When the servant came to her, she felt that she had no right
to the girl's services ; and when a message was brought to
her from Lady Ball, asking whether she would be taken out
in the carriage, she acknowledged to herself that such
courtesy to her was altogether out of place.

On that evening her cousin said nothing to her, and on
the next day he went again up to town.

" What, four days running, John ! " said Lady Ball, at
breakfast.

" I have particular business to-day, mother," said he.

On that evening, when he came back, he found a moment
to take Margaret by the hand and tell her that his own lawyer
also was to meet them at Mr. Slew's chambers on the day
named. He took her thus, and held her hand closely in his
while he was speaking, but he said nothing to her more
tender than the nature of such a communication required.

"You and John are terribly mysterious," said Lady Ball
to her, a minute or two afterwards. If there is anything I
do hate it's mystery in families. We never had any with us
till you came."

How MISS MACKENZIE'S LOVERS BEHAVED. 229

On the next day a letter reached her which had been re-
directed from Gower Street. It was from Mr. Maguire ; and
she took it up into her own room to read it and answer it.
The letter and reply were as follows :

" Littlebath, Oct., 186—.

"DEAREST MARGARET, — I hope the circumstances of the
case will, in your opinion, justify me in writing to you again,
though I am sorry to intrude upon you at a time when your
heart must yet be sore with grief for the loss of your
lamented brother. Were we now all in all to each other,
as I hope we may still be before long, it would be my sweet
privilege to wipe your eyes, and comfort you in your sorrow,
and bid you remember that it is the Lord who giveth and
the Lord who taketh away. Blessed be the name of the
Lord. I do not doubt that you have spoken to yourself daily
in those words, nay, almost hourly, since your brother was
taken from you. I had not the privilege of knowing him,
but if he was in any way like his sister, he would have been
a friend whom I should have delighted to press to my breast
and carry in my heart of hearts.

" But now, dearest Margaret, will you allow me to intrude
upon you with another theme ? Of course you well know
the subject upon which, at present, I am thinking more than
on any other. May I be permitted to hope that that subject
sometimes presents itself to you in a light that is not
altogether disagreeable. When you left Littlebath so
suddenly, carried away on a mission of love and kindness,
you left me, as you will doubtlessly remember, in a state of
some suspense. You had kindly consented to acknowledge
that I was not altogether indifferent to you."

" That's not true," said Margaret to herself, almost out
loud ; "I never told him anything of the kind."

"And it was arranged that on that very day we were to
have had a meeting, to which, — shall I confess it ? — I looked
forward as the happiest moment of my life. I can hardly
tell you what my feelings were when I found that you were
going, and that I could only just say to you, farewell. If I
could only have been with you when that letter came I think
I could have softened your sorrow, and perhaps then, in
your gentleness, you might have said a word which would

240 MISS MACKENZIE.

have left me nothing to wish for in this world. But it has
been otherwise ordered, and, Margaret, I do not complain.

" But what makes me write now is the great necessity
that I should know exactly how I stand. You said some-
thing in your last dear letter which gave me to understand
that you wished to do something for your brother's family.
Promises made by the bed-sides of the dying are always
dangerous, and in the cases of Roman Catholics have been
found to be replete with ruin."

Mr. Maguire, no doubt, forgot that in such cases the
promises are made by, and not to, the dying person.

" Nevertheless, I am far from saying that they should not
be kept in a modified form, and you need not for a moment
think that I, if I may be allowed to have an interest in the
matter, would wish to hinder you from doing whatever may be
becoming. I think I may promise you that you will find no
mercenary spirit in me, although, of course, I am bound,
looking forward to the tender tie which will, I hope, connect
us, to regard your interests above all other worldly affairs.
If I may then say a word of advice, it is to recommend that
nothing permanent be done till we can act together in this
matter. Do not, however, suppose that anything you can
do or have done, can alter the nature of my regard.

"But now, dearest Margaret, will you not allow me to
press for an immediate answer to my appeal ? I will tell
you exactly how I am circumstanced, and then you will see
how strong is my reason that there should be no delay.
Very many people ' here, I may say all the elite of the
evangelical circles, including Mrs. Perch, — Mrs. Perch was
the coachmaker's wife, who had always been so true to Mrs.
Stumfold, — desired that I should establish a church here, on
my own bottom, quite independent of Mr. Stumfold. The
Stumfolds would then soon have to leave Littlebath, there is
no doubt of that, and she has already made herself so unendur-
able, and her father and she together are so distressing, that
the best of their society has fallen away from them. Her
treatment to you was such that I could never endure her
afterwards. Now the opening for a clergyman with pure
Gospel doctrines would be the best thing that has turned up
for a long time. The church would be worth over six
hundred a-year, besides the interest of the money which

HOW MISS MACKENZIE'S LOVERS BEHAVED. 241

would have to be laid out. I could have all this commenced
at once, and secure the incumbency, if I could myself head
the subscription list with two thousand pounds. It should
not be less than that. You will understand that the money
would not be given, though, no doubt, a great many persons
would, in this way, be induced to give theirs. But the pew
rents would go in the first instance to provide interest for the
money not given, but lent ; as would of course be the case
with your money, if you would advance it.

" I should not think of such a plan as this if I did not feel
that it was the best thing for your interests ; that is, if, as I
fondly hope, I am ever to call you mine. Of course, in that
case, it is only common prudence on my part to do all I can
to insure for myself such a professional income, for your
sake. For, dearest Margaret, my brightest earthly hope is
to see you with everything comfortable around you. If that
could be arranged, it would be quite within our means to
keep some sort of carriage."

Here would be a fine opportunity for rivalling Mrs.
Sturnfold ! That was the temptation with which he hoped
to allure her.

*' But the thing must be done quite immediately, therefore
let me pray you not to postpone my hopes with unnecessary
delay. I know it seems unromantic to urge a lady with any
pecuniary considerations, but I think that under the
circumstances, as I have explained them, you will forgive
me.

" Believe me to be, dearest Margaret,
" Yours, with truest,

" Most devoted affection,

"JEREH. MAGUIEE."

One man had wanted her money to buy a house on a
mortgage, and another now asked for it to build a church,
giving her, or promising to give her the security of the pew
rents. Which of the two was the worst ? They were both her
lovers, and she thought that he was the worst who first made
his love and then tried to get her money. These were the
ideas which at once occurred to her upon her reading Mr.
Maguire's letter. She had quite wit enough to see through
the whole project ; how outsiders were to be induced to give
16

242 MISS MACKENZIH.

their money, thinking that all was to be given; whereas
those inside the temple,— thos-e who knew all about it, —
were simply to make for themselves a good speculation.
Her cousin John's constant solicitude for money was bad ;
but, after all, it was not so bad as this. She told herself at
once that the letter was one which would of itself have
ended everything between her and Mr. Maguire, even had
nothing occurred to put an absolute and imperative stop to
the affair. Mr. Maguire pressed for an early answer, and
before she left the room she sat down and wrote it.

" The Cedars, Twickenham, Octoher, 186—.

"DEAR SIR" — Before she wrote the words, "Dear Sir,"
she had to think much of them, not having had as yet much
experience in writing letters to gentlemen ; but she con-
cluded at last that if she simply wrote " Sir," he would take
it as an insult, and that if she wrote " My dear Mr.
Maguire," it would, under the circumstances, be too
affectionate.

" DEAR SIR, — I have got your letter to-day, and I hasten
to answer it at once. All that to which you allude between
us must be considered as being altogether over, and I am
very sorry that you should have had so much trouble. My
circumstances are altogether changed. I cannot explain
how, as it would make my letter very long ; but you may
be assured that such is the case, and to so great an extent
that the engagement you speak of would not at all suit you
at present. Pray take this as being quite true, and believe
me to be

" Your very humble servant,

" MARGARET MACKENZIE."

I feel that the letter was somewhat curt and dry as an
answer to an effusion so full of affection as that which the
gentleman had written ; and the fair reader, when she
remembers that Miss Mackenzie had given the gentleman
considerable encouragement, will probably think that she
should have expressed something like regret at so sudden a
termination to so tender a friendship. But she, in truth,
regarded the offer as having been made to her money solely,
and as in fact no longer existing as an offer, now that her

now MISS MACKENZIE'S LOVERS BEHAVED. 243

money itself was no longer in existence. She was angry
with Mr. Maguire for the words he had written about her
brother's affairs ; for his wish to limit her kindness to her
nephews and nieces, and also for his greediness in being-
desirous of getting her money at once ; but as to the main
question, she thought herself bound to answer him plainly,
as she would have answered a man who came to buy from
her a house, which house was no longer in her posses-
sion.

Mr. Maguire, when he received her letter, did not
believe a word of it. He did not in the least believe that
she had actually lost everything that had once belonged to
her, or that he, if he married her now, would obtain less
than he would have done had he married her before her
brother's death. But he thought that her brother's family
and friends had got hold of her in London ; that Mr. Rubb
might very probably have done it ; and that they were
striving to obtain command of her money, and were
influencing her to desert him. He thinking so, and being a
man of good courage, took a resolution to follow his game,
and to see whether even yet he might not obtain the good
things which had made his eyes glisten and his mouth
water. He knew that there was very much against him in
the race that he was desirous of running, and that an
heiress with,' — he did not know how much a-year, but
it had been rumoured among the Stumfoldians that it was
over a thousand, — might not again fall in his way. There
were very many things against him, of which he was quite
conscious. He had not a shilling of his own, and was in
receipt of no professional income. He was not altogether a
young man. There was in his personal appearance a defect
which many ladies might find it difficult to overcome ; and
then that little story about his debts, which Miss Todd had
picked up, was not only true, but was some degrees under the
truth. No doubt, he had a great wish that his wife should bo
comfortable ; but he also, for himself, had long been pining
after those eligible comforts, which when they appertain to
clergymen, the world, with so much malice, persists in
calling the flesh-pots of Egypt. Thinking of all this, of the
position he had already gained in spite of his personal dis-
advantages, and of the great chance there was that his*
16—2

244 MISS MACKENZIE.

Margaret might yet be rescued from the Philistines, he
resolved upon a journey to London.

In the mean time Miss Mackenzie's other lover had not
been idle, and he also was resolved by no means to give up
the battle.

It cannot be said that Mr. Rubb was not mercenary in his
views, but with his desire for the lady's money was mingled
much that was courageous, and something also that was
generous. The whole truth had been told to him as plainly
as it had been told to Mr. Ball, and nevertheless he
determined to persevere. He went to work diligently on
that very afternoon, deserting the smiles of Miss Colza, and
made such inquiries into the law of the matter as were
possible to him ; and they resulted, as far as Miss Mackenzie
was concerned, in his appearing late one afternoon at the
front door of Sir John Ball's house. On the day following
this Miss Mackenzie was to keep her appointment with Mr.
Slow, and her cousin was now up in London among the
lawyers.

Miss Mackenzie was sitting with her aunt when Mr.
Rubb called. They were both in the drawing-room; and
Lady Ball, who had as yet succeeded in learning nothing,
and who was more than ever convinced that there was much
to learn, was not making herself pleasant to her companion.
Throughout the whole week she had been very unpleasant.
She did not quite understand why Margaret's sojourn at the
Cedars had been and was to be so much prolonged.
Margaret, feeling herself compelled to say something on the
subject, had with some hesitation told her aunt that she was
staying till she had seen her lawyer again, because her cousin
wished her to stay.

In answer to this, Lady Ball had of course told her that
she was welcome. Her ladyship had then cross-questioned
her son on that subject also, but he had simply said that as
there was law business to be done, Margaret might as well
atay at Twickenham till it was completed.

" But, my dear," Lady Ball had said, " her law business
might go on for ever, for what you know."

" Mother," said the son, sternly, " I wish her to stay here
at present, and I suppose you will not refuse to permit her
to do so."

HOW MISS MACKENZIE'S LOVEHS BEHAVED. 245

After this, Lady Ball could go no further.

On the clay on which Mr. B/ubb was announced in the
drawing-room, the aunt and niece were sitting together.
" Mr. Rubb, — to see Miss Mackenzie," said the old servant,
as he opened the door.

Miss Mackenzie got up, blushing to her forehead, and
Lady Ball rose from her chair with an angry look, as
though asking the oilcloth manufacturer how he dared to
make his way in there. The name of the Rubbs had been
specially odious to all the family at the Cedars since Tom
Mackenzie had carried his share of Jonathan Ball's money
into the firm in the New Road. And Mr. Rubb's
appearaoce was not calculated to mitigate this anger.
Again he had got on those horrid yellow gloves, and again
had dressed himself up to his idea of the garb of a man of
fashion. To Margaret's eyes, in the midst of her own
misfortunes, he was a thing horrible to behold, as he came
into that drawing-room. When she had seen him in his
natural condition, at her brother's house, he had been at any
rate unobjectionable to her ; and when, on various
occasions, he had talked to her about his own business,
pleading his own cause and excusing his own fault, she had
really liked him. There had been a moment or two, the mo-
ments of his bitterest confessions, in which she had in truth
liked him much. But now ! What would she not have given
that the old servant should have taken upon himself to
declare that she was not at home.

But there he was in her aunt's drawing-room, and she had
nothing to do but to ask him to sit down.

" This is my aunt, Lady Ball," said Margaret.

" I hope I have the honour of seeing her ladyship quite
well," said Mr. Rubb, bowing low before he ventured to seat
himself.

Lady Ball would not condescend to say a word, but
stared at him in a manner that would have driven him out
of the room had he understood the nature of such looks on
ladies' faces.

" I hope my sister-in-law and the children are well,"
said Margaret, with a violent attempt to make con-
versation.

"Pretty much as you left them, Miss Mackenzie; she

246 MISS MACKENZIE.

takes on a good deal ; but that's only human nature j eh,
my lady?"

But her ladyship still would not condescend to speak a
word.

Margaret did not know what further to say. All
subjects on which it might have been possible for her to
speak to Mr. Bubb were stopped from L<sr in the presence
of her aunt. Mr. Bubb knew of that great calamity of
which, as yet, Lady Ball knew nothing, — of that great
calamity to the niece, but great blessing, as it would be
thought by the aunt. And she was in much fear lest Mr.
Bubb should say something which might tend to divulge the
secret.

"Did you come by the train ? " she said, at last, reduced
in her agony to utter the first unmeaning question of which
she could think.

" Yes, Miss Mackenzie, I came by the train, and I am going:
back by the 5.45, if I can just be allowed to say a few words
to you first."

" Does the gentleman mean in private ? " asked Lady
Ball.

"If you please, my lady," said Mr. Bubb, who
was beginning to think that he did not like Lady
Ball.

"If Miss Mackenzie wishes it, of course she can
do so."

" It may be about my brother's affairs," said Margaret,
getting up.

" It is nothing to me, my dear, whether they are your
brother's or your own," said Lady Ball ; "you had better
not interrupt your uncle in the study ; but I dare say you'll
find the dining-room disengaged."

So Miss Mackenzie led the way into the dining-room, and
Mr. Bubb followed. There they found some of the girls,
who stared very hard at Mr. Bubb, as they left the room at
their cousin's request. As soon as they were left alone Mr.
Bubb began his work manfully.

" Margaret," said he, " I hope you will let me call you so
now that you are in trouble ? "

To this she made no answer.

" But perhaps your trouble is over ? Perhaps you

HOW MISS MACKENZIE'S LOVERS BEHAVED. 247

have found out that it isn't all as you told us the other
day ? "

"No, Mr. E/ubb ; I have found nothing of that kind ; I
believe it is as I told you."

" Then I'll tell you what I propose. You haven't given
up the fight, have you ? You have not done anything ? "

" I have done nothing as yet."

" Then I'll tell you my plan. Fight it out."

"I do not want to fight for anything that is not my
own."

"But it is your own. It is your own of rights, even
though it should not be so by some quibble of the lawyers'.
I don't believe twelve Englishmen would be found in
London to give it to anybody else j I don't indeed."

"But my own lawyer tells me it isn't mine, Mr.
Rubb."

" Never mind him ; don't you give up anything. Don't
you let them make you soft. When it comes to money
nobody should give up anything. Now I'll tell you what I
propose."

She now sat down and listened to him, while he stood
over her. It was manifest that he was very eager, and
in his eagerness he became loud, so that she feared his
words might be heard out of the room.

" You know what my sentiments are," he said. At that
moment she did not remember what his sentiments were,
nor did she know what he meant. " They're the same now
as ever. Whether you have got your fortune, or whether
you've got nothing, they're the same. I've seen you
tried alongside of your brother, when he was a-dying,
and, Margaret, I like you now better than ever I did."

"Mr. Rubb, at present, all that cannot mean any-
thing."

" But doesn't it mean anything ? By Jove ! it does
though. It means just this, that I'll make you Mrs. Rubb
to-morrow, or as soon as Doctors' Commons, and all that,
will let us do it ; and I'll chance the money afterwards.
Do you let it just go easy, and say nothing, and I'U fight
them. If the worst comes to the worst, they'll be willing
enough to cry halves with us. But, Margaret, if the worst
does come to be worse than that, you won't find me hard to

248 MISS MACKENZIE.

you on that account. I shall always remember who helped
me when I wanted help."

" I am sure, Mr. E/ubb, I am much obliged to you."

" Don't talk about being obliged, but get up and give me
your hand, and say it shall be a bargain." Then he tried
to take her by the hand and raise her from the chair up
towards him.

"No, no, no ! " said she.

" But I say yes. Why should it be no ? If there never
should come a penny out of this property I will put a roof
over your head, and will find you victuals and clothes re-
spectably. Who will do better for you than that ? And as
for the fight, by Jove ! I shall like it. You'll find they'll
get nothing out of my hands till they have torn away my
nails."

Here was a new phase in her life. Here was a man
willing to marry her even though she had no assured
fortune.

" Margaret," said he, pleading his cause again, " I have
that love for you that I would take you though it was all
gone, to the last farthing."

" It is all gone."

" Let that be as it may, we'll try it. But though it
should be all gone, every shilling of it, still, will you be my
wife ? "

It was altogether a new phase, and one that was
inexplicable to her. And this came from a man to whom
she had once thought that she might bring herself to give
her hand and her heart, and her money also. She did not
doubt that if she took him at his word he would be
good to her, and provide her with shelter, and food and
raiment, as he had promised her. Her heart was softened
towards him, and she forgot his gloves and his shining
boots. But she could not bring herself to say that she
would love him, and be his wife. It seemed to her now
that she was under the guidance of her cousin, and that she
was pledged to do nothing of which he would disapprove.
He would not approve of her accepting the hand of a man
who would be resolved to litigate this matter with him.

" It cannot be," she said. " I feel how generous you are,
but it cannot be."

249

" And why shouldn't it be ? "

" Oh, Mr. Rubb, there are things one cannot explain."

" Margaret, think of it. How are you to do better ? "

" Perhaps not ; probably not. In many ways I am sure I
could not do better. But it cannot be."

Not then, nor for the next twenty minutes, but at last he
took his answer and went. He did this when he found
that he had no more minutes to spare if he intended to return
by the 5.45 train. Then, with an angry gesture of his
head, he left her, and hurried across to the front door. Then,
as he went out, Mr. John Ball came in.

" Good evening, Sir," said Mr. Rubb. "lam Mr. Samuel
Rubb. I have just been seeing Miss Mackenzie, on business.
Good evening, Sir."

John Ball said never a word, and Samuel Rubb hurried
across the grounds to the railway station.

250 HISS MACKBHZIE

CHAPTER XX.

SHOWING HOW THE THIRD LOVER BEHAVED.

"WHAT has that man been here for ? " Those were the
first words which Mr. Ball spoke to his cousin after
shutting the hall-door behind Mr. Rubb's back. When the
door was closed he turned round and saw Margaret as she
was coming out of the dining-room, and in a voice that
sounded to her as though he were angry, asked her the
above question.

"He came to see me, John," said Miss Mackenzie, going
back into the dining-room. " He was my brother's
partner."

" He said he came upon business ; what business could he
have?"

It was not very easy for her to tell him what had been
Mr. Rubb's business. She had no wish to keep anything
secret from her cousin, but she did not know how to
describe the scene which had just taken place, or how to
acknowledge that the man had come there to ask her to
marry him.

" Does he know anything of this matter of your money ? "
continued Mr. Ball.

" Oh yes ; he knows it all. He was in Gower Street
when I told my sister-in-law."

" And he came to advise you about it ? "

" Yes ; he did advise me about it. But his advice I shall
not take."

" And what did he advise ? "

Then Margaret told him that Mr. Rubb had counselled

SHOWING HOW THE THIRD LOVER BEHAVED. 251

her to light it out to the last, in order that a compromise
might at any rate be obtained.

" If it has no selfish object in view I am far from saying
that he is wrong," said John Ball. " It is what I should
advise a friend to do under similar circumstances."

" It is not what I shall do, John."

"No; you are like a lamb that gives itself up to tho
slaughterer. I have been with one lawyer or the other all
day, and the end of it is that there is no use on earth in
your going to London to-morrow, nor, as far as I can see, for
another week to come. The two lawyers together have
referred the case to counsel for opinion, — for an amicable
opinion as they call it. From what they all say, Margaret,
it seems to me clear that the matter will go against
you."

" I have expected nothing else since Mr. Slow spoke to
me."

"But no doubt you can make a fight, as your friend
says."

" I don't want to fight, John ; you know that."

" Mr. Slow won't let you give it up without a contest.
He suggested a compromise, — that you and I should divide
it. But I hate compromises." She looked up into his face
but said nothing. " The truth is, I have been so wronged
in the matter, the whole thing has been so cruel, it has, all
of it together, so completely ruined me and my prospects in
life, that were it any one but you, I would sooner have a
lawsuit than give up one penny of what is left." Again
she looked at him, but he went on speaking of it without
observing her. " Think what it has been, Margaret ! The
whole of this property was once mine ! Not the half of it
only that has been called yours, but the whole of it ! The
income was actually paid for one half-year to a separate
banking account on my behalf, before I was of age. Yes,
paid to me, and I had it ! My uncle Jonathan had no
more legal right to take it away from me than you have to.
take the coat off my back. Think of that, and of what four-
and- twenty thousand pounds would have done for me and
my family from that time to this. There have been nearly
thirty years of this robbery ! "

" It was not my fault, John."

252 MISS MACKENZIE.

" No ; it was not your fault. But if your brothers could
pay me back all that they really owe me, all that the money
would now be worth, it would come to nearly a hundred
thousand pounds. After that, what is a man to say when
he is asked to compromise ? As far as I can see, there is
not a shadow of doubt about it. Mr. Slow does not pre-
tend that there is a doubt. How they can fail to see the
justice of it is what passes my understanding ! "

" Mr. Slow will give up at once, I suppose, if I ask
him ? "

" I don't want you to ask him. I would rather that you
didn't say a word to him about it. There is a debt too
from that man Rubb which they advise me to abandon."

In answer to this, Margaret could say nothing, for she
knew well that her trust in the interest of that money was
the only hope she had of any maintenance for her sister-in-
law.

After a few minutes' silence he again spoke to her. " He
desires to know whether you want money for immediate
use."

" Who wants to know ? "

"Mr. Slow."

" Oh no, John. I have money at the bankers*, but I will
not touch it."

" How much is there at the bankers' ? "

" There is more than three hundred pounds j but very
little more ; perhaps three hundred and ten."
. " You may have that."

" John, I don't want anything that is not my own ; not
though I had to walk out to earn my bread in the streets
to-morro,w."

" That is your own, I tell you. The tenants have been
ordered not to pay any further rents, till they receive
notice. You can make them pay, nevertheless, if you wish
it; at least, you might do so, till some legal steps were
taken."

" Of course, I shall do nothing of the kind. It was Mr.
Slow's people who used to get the money. And am I not to
go up to London to-morrow ? "

" You can go if you choose, but you will learn nothing.
I told Mr. Slow that I would bid you wait till I heard

SHOWING HOW THE THIRD LOVER BEHAVED. 258

from him again. It is time now for us to get ready for
dinner."

Then, as he was going to leave the room, she took him b}
the coat and held him again, — held him as fast as she had
done on the pavement in Lincoln's Inn Fields. There was a
soft, womanly, trusting weakness in the manner of her
motion as she did this, which touched him now as it had
touched him then.

"John," she said, "if there is to be so much delay, I
must not stay here."

" Why not, Margaret ? "

" My aunt does not like my staying ; I can see that ; and
I don't think it is fair to do so while she does not know all
about it. It is something like cheating her out of the use
of the house."

" Then I will tell her."

" What, all ? Had I not better go first ? "

" No ; you cannot go. Where are you to go to ? I will
tell her everything to-night. I had almost made up my
mind to do so already. It will be better that they should
both know it, — my father and my mother. My father pro-
bably will be required to say all that he knows about the
matter."

" I shall be ready to go at once if she wishes it," said
Margaret.

To this he made no answer, but went up stairs to his bed-
room, and there, as he dressed, thought again, and again,
and again of his cousin Margaret. What should he do for
her, and in what way should he treat her ? The very name
of the Mackenzies he had hated of old, and their names
were now more hateful to him than ever, tie had correctly
described his own feelings towards them when he said, either
truly or untruly, that they had deprived him of that which
would have made his whole life prosperous instead of the
reverse. And it seemed as though he had really thought
that they had been in fault in this ; — that they had defrauded
him. It did not, apparently, occur to him that the only
persons he could blame were his uncle Jonathan and his own
lawyers, who, at his uncle's death, had failed to discover in
his behalf what really were his rights. Walter Mackenzie
been a poor creature who could do nothing. Tom Mac-

254 MISS MACKENZIE.

kenzie had been a mean creature who had allowed himself to
be cozened in a petty trade out of the money which he had
wrongfully acquired. They were odious to him, and he
hated their memories. He would fain have hated all that
belonged to them, had he been able. But he was not able
to hate this woman who clung to him, and trusted him, and
felt no harsh feelings towards him, though he was going to
take from her everything that had been hers. She trusted
him for advice even though he was her adversary ! Would
he have trusted her or any other human being under such
circumstances ? No, by Heavens ! But not the less on that
account did he acknowledge to himself that this confidence
in her was very gracious.

That evening passed by very quietly as far as Miss Mac-
kenzie was concerned. She had some time since, immedi-
ately on her last arrival at the Cedars, offered to relieve her
aunt from the trouble of making tea, and the duty had then
been given up to her. But since Lady Ball's failure in
obtaining possession of her niece's secret, the post of honour
had been taken away.

" You don't make it as your uncle likes it," Lady Ball had
said.

She made her little offer again on this evening, but it was
rejected.

" Thank you, no ; I believe I had better do it myself," had
been the answer.

" Why can't you let Margaret make tea ? I'm sure she
does it very well," said John.

" I don't see that you can be a judge, seeing that you take
none," his mother replied ; " and if you please, I'd rather
make the tea in my own house as long as I can."

This little allusion to her own house was, no doubt, a blow
at her son, to punish him in that he had dictated to her in
that matter of the continued entertainment of her guest ;
but Margaret also felt it to be a blow at her, and resolved
that she would escape from the house with as little further
delay as might be possible. Beyond this, the evening was
very quiet, till Margaret, a little after tea, took her candle
and went off wearily to her room.

But then the business of the day as regarded the Cedars
began ; for John Ball, before he went to bed, told both his

SHOWING HOW THE THIRD LOVER BEHAVED. 255

father and his mother the whole story ; — the story, that is,
as far as the money was concerned, and also as far as Mar-
garet's conduct to him was concerned ; but of his own feel-
ings towards her he said nothing.

" She has behaved admirably, mother," he said ; you must
acknowledge that, and I think that she is entitled to all the
kindness we can show her."

" I have been kind to her," Lady Ball answered.

This had taken place in Lady Ball's own room, after they
had left Sir John. The tidings had taken the old man so
much by surprise, that he had said little or nothing. Even
his caustic ill-nature had deserted him, except on one occa-
sion, when he remarked that it was like his brother Jona-
than to do as much harm with his money as was within his
reach.

" My memory in such a matter is worth nothing, — abso-
lutely nothing," the old man had said. " I always supposed
something was wrong. I remember that. But I left it all
to the lawyers."

In Lady Ball's room the conversation was prolonged to a
late hour of the night, and took various twists and turns, as
such conversations will do.

" What are we to do about the young woman ? " That
was Lady Ball's main question, arising, no doubt, from
the reflection that the world would lean very heavily on
them if they absolutely turned her out to starve in the
streets.

John Ball made no proposition in answer to this, having
not as yet made up his mind as to what his own wishes were
with reference to the young woman. Then his mother made
her proposition.

" Of course that money due by the Rubbs must be paid.
Let her take that."

But her son made no reply to this other than that he
feared the Rubbs were not in a condition to pay the money.

" They would pay her the interest at any rate," said Lady
Ball, " till she had got into some other way of life. She
would do admirably for a companion to an old lady, because
her manners are good, and she does not want much waiting
upon herself.

On the next morning Miss Mackenzie trembled in her

256 MISS MACKENZIE.

shoes as she came down to breakfast. Her uncle, whom she
feared the most, would not be there ; but the meeting- with
her aunt, when her aunt would know that she was a pauper
and that she had for the last week been an impostor, was
terrible to her by anticipation. Bat she had not calculated
that her aunt's triumph in this newly-acquired wealth for
the Ball family would, for the present, cover any other feeling
that might exist. Her aunt met her with a gracious smile,
was very urbane in selecting a chair for her at prayers close
to her own, and pressed upon her a piece of buttered toast
out of a little dish that was always prepared for her lady-
ship's own consumption. After breakfast John Ball again
went to town. He went daily to town during the present
crisis ; and, on this occasion, his mother made no remarks
as to the urgency of his business. When he was gone Lady
Ball began to potter about the house, after her daily custom,
and was longer in her pottering than was usual with her.
Miss Mackenzie helped the younger children in their lessons,
as she often did ; and when time for luncheon came, she had
almost begun to think that she was to be allowed to escape
any conversation with her Aunt touching the great money
question. But it was not so. At one she was told that
luncheon and the children's dinner was postponed till two,
and she was asked by the servant to go up to Lady Ball in
her own room.

"Come and sit down, my dear," said Lady Ball, in her
sweetest voice. " It has got to be very cold, and you had
better come near the fire."

Margaret did as she was bidden, and sat herself down in
the chair immediately opposite to her aunt.

" This is a wonderful story that John has told me," con-
tinued her aunt ; — " very wonderful."

" It is sad enough for me," said Margaret, who did not feel
inclined to be so self- forgetful in talking to her aunt as she
had been with her cousin.

" It is sad for you, Margaret, no doubt. But I am sure
you have within you that conscientious rectitude of purpose
that you would not wish to keep anything for yourself that
in truth belongs to another."

To this Margaret answered nothing, and her aunt went
on.

SHOWING HOW THE THIRD LOVEE BEHAVED. 257

" It is a great change to you, no doubt ; and, of course,
that is the point on which I wish to speak to you most
especially. I have told John that something must be done
for you."

This jarred terribly on poor Margaret's feelings. Her
cousin had said nothing, not a word as to doing anything
for her. The man who had told her of his love, and asked
her to be his wife, not twelve months since, — who had pressed
her to be of all women the dearest to him and the nearest,
— had talked to her of her ruin without offering her aid,
although this ruin to her would enrich him very greatly.
She had expected nothing from him, had wanted nothing
from him ; but by degrees, when absent from him, the feel-
ing had grown upon her that he had been hard to her in
abstaining from expressions of commiseration. She had
yielded to him in the whole affair, assuring him that nothing
should be done by her to cause him trouble ; and she would
have been grateful to him if in return he had said some-
thing to her of her future mode of life. She had intended
to speak to him about the hospital ; but she had thought
that she might abstain from doing so till he himself should
ask some question as to her plans. He had asked no such
question, and she was now almost determined to go away
without troubling him on the subject. But H" he, who had
once professed to love her, would make no suggestion SB to
her future life, she could ill bear that any offer of the kind
should come from her aunt, who, as she knew, had only re-
garded her for her money.

" I would rather," she replied, " that nothing should be
said to him on the subject."

" And why not, Margaret ? "

" I desire that I may be no burden to him or to anybody.
I will go away and earn my bread ; and even if I cannot do
that, my relations shall not be troubled by hearing from me."

She said this without sobbing, but not without that almost
hysterical emotion which indicates that tears are being sup-
pressed with pain.

" That is false pride, my dear."

" Very well, aunt. I dare say it is false ; but it is my
pride. I may be allowed to keep my pride, though I can
keep nothing else,"
17

258 MISS MACKENZIE.

" What you say about earning your bread is very proper ;
and I and John and your uncle also have been thinking of
that. But I should be glad if some additional assistance
should be provided for you, in the event of old age, you
know, or illness. Now, as to earning your bread, I remarked
to John that you were peculiarly qualified for being a lady's
companion."

" For being what, aunt ? "

" For being companion to some lady in the decline of life,
who would want to have some nice mannered person
always with her. You have the advantage of being lady-
like and gentle, and I think that you are patient by dis-
position."

" Aunt," said Miss Mackenzie, and her voice as she spoke
was hardly gentle, nor was it indicative of much patience.
Her hysterics also, seemed for the time to have given way
to her strong passionate feeling. "Aunt," she said, " I would
sooner take a broom in my hand, and sweep a crossing in
London, than lead such a life as that. What ! make myself
the slave of some old woman, who would think that she
had bought the power of tyrannising over me by allowing
me to sit in the same room with her ! No, indeed ! It may
very likely be the case that I may have to serve such a
one in the kitchen, but it shall be in the kitchen, and
not in the drawing-room. I have not had much ex-
perience in life, but I have had enough to learn that
lesson ! "

Lady Ball, who during the first part of the conversation
had been unrolling and winding a great ball of worsted,
now sat perfectly still, holding the ball in her lap, and
staring at her niece. She was a quick-witted woman, and
it no doubt occurred to her that the great objection to living
with an old lady, which her niece had expressed so passion-
ately, must have come from the trial of that sort of life
which she had had at the Cedars. And there was enough
in Miss Mackenzie's manner to justify Lady Ball in thinking
that some such expression of feeling as this had been in-
tended by her. She had never before heard Margaret speak
out so freely, even in the days of her undoubted heiress-
ship ; and now, though she greatly disliked her niece, she
could not avoii mingling something of respect and some-

SHOWING HOW THE THIRD LOVER BEHAVED. 259

thing almost amounting to fear with her dislike. She did
not dare to go on unwinding her worsted, and giving tho
advantage of her condescension to a young woman who
spoke out at her in that way.

" I thought I was advising you for the best," she said,
" and I had hoped that you would have been thankful."

"I don't know what may be for the best," said Margaret,
again bordering upon the hysterical in the tremulous-
ness of her voice, "but that I'm sure would be for the
worst. However, I've made up my mind to nothing as
yet."

"No, my dear ; of course not ; but we all must think of
it, you know."

Her cousin John had not thought of it, and she did not
want any one else to do so. She especially did not want her
aunt to think of it. But it was no doubt necessary that
her aunt should consider how long she would be required
to provide a home for her impoverished niece, and Mar-
garet's mind at once applied itself to that view of the
subject.

" I have made up my mind that I will go to London next
week, and then I must settle upon something."

" You mean when you go to Mr. Slow's ? "

" I mean that I shall go for good. I have a little money
by me, which John says I may use, and I shall take a

lodging till — till — till " Then she could not go on any

further.

" You can stay here, Margaret, if you please ; — that is till
something more is settled about all this affair."

" I will go on Monday, aunt. I have made up my mind
to that." It was now Saturday. " I will go on Monday.
It will be better for all parties that I should be away." Then
she got up, and waiting no further speech from her aunt,
took herself off to her own room.

She did not see her aunt again till dinner-time, and then
neither of them spoke to each other. Lady Ball thought
that she had reason to be offended, and Margaret would not
be the first to speak. In the evening, before the whole
family, she told her cousin that she had made up her mind
to go up to London on Monday. He begged her to recon-
sider her resolution, but when she persisted that she would
17—2

260 MISS MACKENZIE.

do so, he did not then argue the question any further. But
on the Sunday he implored her not to go as yet, and did
obtain her consent to postpone her departure till Tuesday.
He wished, he said, to be at any rate one day more in
London before she went. On the Sunday she was closeted
with her uncle who also sent for her, and to him she
suggested her plan of becoming nurse at a hospital. He
remarked that he hoped that would not be necessary.

" Something will be necessary," she said, " as I don't
mean to eat anybody's bread hut my own."

In answer to this he said that he would speak to John,
and then that interview was over. On the Monday morning
John Ball said something respecting Margaret to his mother
which acerbated that lady more than ever against her niece.
He had not proposed that anything special should be done ;
but he had hinted, when his mother complained of Mar-
garet, that Margaret's conduct was everything that it ought
to be.

"I believe you would take anybody's part against me,"
Lady Ball had said, and then as a matter of course she had
been very cross. The whole of that day was terrible to
Miss Mackenzie, and she resolved that nothing said by her
cousin should induce her to postpone her departure for
another day.

In order to insure this by a few minutes' private con-
versation with him, and also with the view of escaping for
some short time from the house, she walked down to the
station in the evening to meet her cousin. The train by
which he arrived reached Twickenham at five o'clock, and
the walk occupied about twenty minutes. She met him
just as he was coming out of the station gate, and at
once told him that she had come there for the sake of
walking back with him and talking to him. He thanked
her, and said that he was very glad thus to meet her.
He also wanted to speak to her very particularly. Would
she take his arm ?

She took his arm, and then began with a quick trwnulous
voice to tell him of her sufferings at the house. She threw
no blame on her aunt that she could avoid, but declared it
to be natural that under such circumstances as those now
existing her Drolonged sojourn at her aunt's house should be

SHOWING HOW THE TH1ED LOVER BEHAVED* 261

unpleasant to both of them. In answer to all this, John Ball
said nothing, but once or twice lifted up his left hand so as
to establish Margaret's arm more firmly on his own. She
hardly noticed the motion, but yet she was aware that it was
intended for kindness, and then she broke forth with a rapid
voice as to her plan about the hospital. "I think we can
manage better than that, at any rate," said he, stopping her
in the path when this proposal met his ear. But she went
on to declare that she would like it, that she was strong and
qualified for such work, that it would satisfy her aspirations,
and be fit for her. And then, after that, she declared that
nothing should induce her to undertake the kind of life that
had been suggested by her aunt. " I quite agree with you
there," said he ; " quite. I hate tabbies as much as you
do."

They had now come to a little gate, of which John Ball
kept a key, and which led into the grounds belonging to the
Cedars. The grounds were rather large, and the path
through them extended for half a mile, but the land was let
off to a grazier. When inside the wall, however, they were
private ; and Mr. Ball, as soon as he had locked the gate
behind him, stopped her in the dark path, and took both her
hands in his. The gloom of the evening had now come
round them, and the thick trees which formed the belt of
the place, joined to the high wall, excluded from them nearly
all what light remained.

" And now," said he, " I will tell you my plan."

"What plan ? " said she ; but her voice was very low.

" I proposed it once before, but you would not have it
then."

When she heard this, she at once drew both her hands
from him, and stood before him in an agony of doubt.
Even in the gloom, the trees were going round her,
and everything, even her thoughts, were obscure and
misty.

"Margaret," said he, "you shall be my wife, and the
mother of my children, and I will love you as I loved
Rachel before. I loved you when I asked you at Christmas,
but I did not love you then as I love you now."

She still stood before him, but answered him not a word.
How often since the tidings of her loss had reached her had

2G2 MISS MACKENZIE.

the idea of such a meeting- as this come before her ! how
often had she seemed to listen to such words as those he
now spoke to her ! Not that she had expected it, or hoped
for it, or even thought of it as being in truth possible ; but
her imagination had been at work, during the long hours of
the night, and the romance of the thing had filled her mind,
and the poetry of it had been beautiful to her. She had
known, — she had told herself that she knew, — that no man
would so sacrifice himself; certainly no such man as John
Ball, with all his children and his weary love of money !
But now the poetry had come to be fact, and the romance had
turned itself into reality, and the picture formed by her
imagination had become a living truth. The very words of
which she had dreamed had been spoken to her.

"Shall it be so, my dear ? " he said, again taking one of
her hands. "You want to be a nurse; will you be my nurse ?
Nay ; I will not ask, but it shall be so. They say that the
lovers who demand are ever the most successful. I make
my demand. Tell me, Margaret, will you obey me ? "

He had walked on now, but in order that his time might
be sufficient, he led her away from the house. She was
following him, hardly knowing whither she was going.

" Susanna," said he, " shall come and live with the others ;
one more will make no difference."

" And my aunt ? " said Margaret.

It was the first word she had spoken since the gate had
been locked behind her, and this word was spoken in a
whisper.

" I hope my mother may feel that such a marriage will
best conduce to my happiness ; but, Margaret, nothing that
my mother can say will change me. You and I have known
something of each other now. Of you, from the way in
which things have gone, I have learned much. Few men, I
take it, see so much of their future wives as I have seen of
you. If you can love me as your husband, say so at once
honestly, and then leave the rest to me."

" I will," she said, again whispering- ; and then she clung
to his hand, and for a minute or two he had his arm round
her waist. Then he took her, and kissed her lips, and told
her that he would take care of her, and watch for her, and
keep her, if possible, from trouble.

SHOWING HOW THE THIRD LOVER BEHAVED. 263

Ah, me, how many years had rolled by since last she had
been kissed in that way ! Once, and once only, had Harry
Handcock so far presumed, and so far succeeded. And now,
after a dozen years or more, that game had begun again
with her ! She had boxed Harry Handcock's ears when
he had kissed her ; but now, from her lover of tot-day, she
submitted to the ceremony very tamely.

" Oh, John," she said, " how am I to thank you ? " But
the thanks were tendered for the promise of his care, and
not for the kiss.

I think there was but little more said between them be-
fore they reached the door-step. When there, Mr. Ball,
speaking already with something of marital authority, gave
her his instructions.

" I shall tell my mother this evening," he said, " as I
hate mysteries j and I shall tell my father also. Of course
there may be something disagreeable said before we all
shake down happily in our places, but I shall look to you,
Margaret, to be firm."

I shall be firm," she said, " if you are."

" I shall be firm," was the reply ; and then they went into
the house.

264 MISS MACKENZIE

CHAPTER XXI.

MR. MAGUIRE GOES TO LONDON ON BUSINESS.

MB. MAGUIRE made up his mind to go to London, to look
after his lady-love, but when he found himself there he did
not quite know what to do. It is often the case with us
that we make up our minds for great action, — that in somo
special crisis of our lives we resolve that something must be
done, and that we make an energetic start ; but we find
very soon that we do not know how to go on doing anything.
It was so with Mr. Maguire. When he had secured a bed
at a small public house near the Great Western railway
station, — thinking, no doubt that he would go to the great
hotel on his next coming to town, should he then have
obtained the lady's fortune, — he scarcely knew what step he
would next take. Margaret's last letter had been written
to him from the Cedars, but he thought it probable that she
might only have gone there for a day or two. He knew
the address of the house in Gower Street, and at last re-
solved that he would go boldly in among the enemy there ;
for he was assured that the family of the lady's late brother
were his special enemies in this case. It was considerably
past noon when he reached London, and it was about three
when, with a hesitating hand, but a loud knock, he pre-
sented himself at Mrs. Mackenzie's door.

He first asked for Miss Mackenzie, and was told that she
was not staying there. Was he thereupon to leave his card
and go away ? He had told himself that in this pursuit of
the heiress he would probably be called upon to dare much,
and if he did not begin to show some daring at once, how

MR. MAGUIRE GOES TO LONDON ON BUSINESS. 26t>

could he respect himself, or trust to himself for future
daring ? So he boldly asked for Mrs. Mackenzie, and was
at once shown into the parlour. There sat the widow, in
her full lugubrious weeds, there sat Miss Colza, and there
sat Mary Jane, and they were all busy hemming, darning,
and clipping ; turning old sheets into new ones ; for now it
was more than ever necessary that Mrs. Mackenzie should
make money at once by taking in lodgers. When Mr,
Maguire was shown into the room each lady rose from her
chair, with her sheet in her hands and in her lap, and then,
as he stood before them, at the other side of the table, each
lady again sat down.

"A gentleman as is asking for Miss Margaret," the
servant had said ; that same cook to whom Mr. Grandairs
had been so severe on the occasion of Mrs. Mackenzie's
dinner party. The other girl had been unnecessary to them
in their poverty, and had left them.

"My name is Maguire, the Rev. Mr. Maguire, from
Littlebath, where I had the pleasure of knowing Miss
Mackenzie."

Then the widow asked him to take a chair, and he took
a chair.

"My sister-in-law -is not with us at present," said Mrs.
Mackenzie.

" She is staying for a visit with her aunt, Lady Ball, at
the Cedars, Twickenham," said Mary Jane, who had con-
trived to drop her sheet, and hustle it under the table with
her feet, as soon as she learned that the visitor was a
clergyman.

" Lady Ball is the lady of Sir John Ball, Baronet," said
Miss Colza, whose good nature made her desirous of stand-
ing up for the honour of the family with which she was, for
the time, domesticated.

"I knew she had been at Lady Ball's," said the clergy-
man, " as I heard from her from thence ; but I thought she
had probably returned."

" Oh dear, no," said the widow, " she ain't returned here,
nor don't mean. We haven't the room for her, and that's
the truth. Have we, Mary Jane ? "

"That we have not, mamma; and I don't think aunt
Margaret would think of such a thing,"

266 MISS MACKENZIE.

Then, thought Mr. Maguire, the Balls must have got hold
of the heiress, and not the Mackenzies, and my battle must
be fought at the Cedars, and not here. Still, as he was
there, he thought he might possibly obtain some further
information ; and this would be the easier, if, as appeared to
be the case, there was enmity between the Gower Street
family and their relative.

" Has Miss Mackenzie gone to live permanently at the
Cedars ? " he asked.

" Not that I know of," said the widow.

" It isn't at all unlikely, mamma, that it may be so, when
you consider everything. It's just the sort of way in which
they'll most likely get over her."

" Mary Jane, hold your tongue," said her mother ; " you
shouldn't say things of that sort before strangers."

" Though I may not have the pleasure of knowing
you and your amiable family," said Mr. Maguire, smiling
his sweetest, " I am by no means a stranger to Miss Mac-
kenzie."

Then the ladies all looked at him, and thought they had
never seen anything so terrible as that squint.

" Miss Mackenzie is making a long visit at the Cedars,"
said Miss Colza, " that is all we know at present. I am told
the Balls are very nice people, but perhaps a little worldly-
minded ; that's to be expected, however, from people who
live out of the west-end from London. I live in Finsbury
Square, or at least, I did before I came here, and I ain't a
bit ashamed to own it. But of course the west-end is the
nicest."

Then Mr. Maguire got up, saying that he should probably
do himself the pleasure of calling on Miss Mackenzie at the
Cedars, and went his way.

" I wonder what he's after," said Mrs. Mackenzie, as soon
as the door was shut.

" Perhaps he came to tell her to bear it all with Christian
resignation," said Miss Colza ; " they always do come when
anything's in the wind like that ; they like to know every-
thing before anybody else."

" It's my belief he's after her money," said Mrs. Mac-
kenzie.

" With such a squint as that ! " said Mary Jane j " I

MB. MAGU1EE GOES TO LONDON ON BUSINESS. 267

wouldn't have him though he was made of money, and I
hadn't a farthing."

" Beauty is but skin deep," said Miss Colza.

" And it's manners to wait till you are asked," said Mrs.
Mackenzie.

Mary Jane chucked up her head with disdain, thereby
indicating that though she had not been asked, and
though beauty is but skin deep, still she held the same
opinion.

Mr. Maguire, as he went away to a clerical advertising
office in the neighbourhood of Exeter Hall, thought over the
matter profoundly. It was clear enough to him that the
Mackenzies of Gower Street were not interfering with him ;
very probably they might have hoped and attempted to
keep the heiress among them ; that assertion that there was
no room for her in the house, — as though they were and ever
had been averse to having her with them, — seemed to imply
that such was the case. It was the natural language of a
disappointed woman. But if so, that hope was now over
with them. And then the young lady had plainly exposed
the suspicions which they all entertained as to the Balls.
These grand people at the Cedars, this baronet's family at
Twickenham, must have got her to come among them with
the intention of keeping her there. It did not occur to him
that the baronet or the baronet's son would actually want
Miss Mackenzie's money. He presumed baronets to be rich
people ; but still they might very probably be as dogs in
the manger, and desirous of preventing their relative from
doing with her money that active service to humanity in
general which would be done were she to marry a deserving
clergyman who had nothing of his own.

He made his visit to the advertising office, and learned
that clergymen without cures were at present drugs in the
market. He couldn't understand how this should be the
case, seeing that the newspapers were constantly declaring
that the supply of university clergymen were becoming less
and less every day. He had come from Trinity, Dublin, and
after the success of his career at Littlebath, was astonished
that he should not be snapped at by the retailers of
curacies.

On the next day he visited Twickenham. Now, on the

268 MlSa MACKENZIE.

morning of that very day Margaret Mackenzie first woke to
the consciousness that she was the promised wife of her
cousin John Ball. There was great comfort in the thought.

It was not only, nor even chiefly, that she who, on the
preceding morning, had awakened to the remembrance of
her utter destitution, now felt that all those terrible troubles
were over. It was not simply that her great care had been
vanquished for her. It was this, that the man who had a
second time come to her asking for her love, had now given
her all-sufficient evidence that he did so for the sake of her
love. He, who was so anxious for money, had shown her
that he could care for her more even than he cared for gold.
As she thought of this, and made herself happy in the
thought, she would not rise at once from her bed, but curled
herself in the clothes and hugged herself in her joy.

" I should have taken him before, at once, instantly, if I
could have thought that it was so," she said to herself ;
" but this is a thousand times better."

Then she found that the pillow beneath her cheek was
wet with her tears.

On the preceding evening she had been very silent and
demure, and her betrothed had also been silent. There had
been no words about the tea-making, and Lady Ball had
been silent also. As far as she knew, Margaret was to go
on the following day, but she would say nothing on the
subject. Margaret, indeed, had commenced her packing,
and did not know when she went to bed whether she was
to go or not. She rather hoped that she might be allowed
to go, as her aunt would doubtless be disagreeable ; but
in that, and in all matters now, she would of course be
guided implicity by Mr. Ball. He had told her to be firm,
and of her own firmness she had no doubt whatever. Lady
Ball, with all her anger, or with all her eloquence, should
not talk her out of her husband. She could be firm, and she
had no doubt that John Ball could be firm also.

Nevertheless, when she was dressing, she did not fail to
tell herself that she might have a bad time of it that
morning, — and a bad time of it for some days to come, if it
was John's intention that she should remain at the Cedars.
She was convinced that Lady Ball weald not welcome her
as u daughter-in-law now as she would have done when the

MB. MAGUIRE GOES TO LONDON ON BUSINESS. 269

property was thought to belong to her. What right had
she to expect such welcome ? No doubt some hard things
would be said to her ; but she knew her own courage, and
was sure that she could bear any hard things with such a
hope within her breast as that which she now possessed.
She left her room a little earlier than usual, thinking that
she might thus meet her cousin and receive his orders. And
in this she was not disappointed ; he was in the hall as she
came down, and she was able to smile on him, and press his
hand, and make her morning greetings to him with some
tenderness in her voice. He looked heavy about the face,
and almost more careworn than usual, but he took her hand
and led her into the breakfast-room.

" Did you tell your mother, John ? " she said, standing
very close to him, almost leaning upon his shoulder.

He, however, did not probably want such signs of love as
this, and moved a step away from her.

" Yes," said he, " I told both my father and my mother.
What she says to you, you must hear, and bear it quietly
for my sake."

" I will, " said Margaret.

" I think that she is unreasonable, but still she is my
mother."

" I shall always remember that, John."

" And she is old, and things have not always gone well
with her. She says, too, that you have been impertinent
to her."

Margaret's face became very red at this charge, but she
made no immediate reply.

" I don't think you could mean to be impertinent."

" Certainly not, John ; but, of course, I shall feel myself
much more bound to her now than I was before."

" Yes, of course ; but I wish that nothing had occurred to
make her so angry with you."

"I don't think that I was impertinent, John, though
perhaps it might seem so. When she was talking about my
being a companion to a lady, I perhaps answered her
sharply. I was so determined that I wouldn't lead that
sort of life, that, perhaps, I said more than I should have
done. You know, John, that it hasn't been quite pleasant
between us for the last few days."

270 MISS MACKENZIE.

John did know this, and he knew also that there was not
much probability of pleasantness for some days to come.
His mother's last words to him on the preceding evening, as
he was leaving her after having told his story, did not give
much promise of pleasantness for Margaret. " John," sho
had said, " nothing on earth shall induce me to live in the
same house with Margaret Mackenzie as your wife. If you
choose to break up everything for her sake, you can do
it. I cannot control you. But remember, it will be your
doing."

Margaret then asked him what she was to do, and where
she was to live. She would fain have asked him when they
were to be married, but she did not dare to make inquiry on
that point. He told her that, for the present, she must
remain at the Cedars. If she went away it would be
regarded as an open quarrel, and moreover, he did not wish
that she should live by herself in London lodgings. " We
shall be able to see how things go for a day or two," he
said. To this she submitted without a murmur, and then
Lady Ball came into the room.

They were both very nervous in watching her first
behaviour, but were not at all prepared for the line of
conduct which she adopted. John Ball and Margaret had
separated when they heard the rustle of her dress. He had
made a step towards the window, and she had retreated to
the other side of the fire-place. Lady Ball, on entering the
room, had been nearest to Margaret, but she walked round
the table away from her usual place for prayers, and accosted
her son.

" Good morning, John," she said, giving him her hand.

Margaret waited a second or two, and then addressed her
aunt.

" Good morning, aunt," she said, stepping half across
the rug.

But her aunt, turning her back to her, moved into the
embrasure of the window. It had been decided that there
was to be an absolute cut between them ! As long as she
remained in that house Lady Ball would not speak to her.
John said nothing, but a black frown came upon his brow.
Poor Margaret retired, rebuked, to her corner by the
chimney. Just at that moment the girls and children

MR. MAGUIBE GOES TO LONDON ON BUSINESS. 271

rusbed in from the study, with the daily governess who
came every morning, and Sir John rang for the servants to
come to prayers.

I wonder whether that old lady's heart was at all softened
as she prayed ? — whether it ever occurred to her to think
that there was any meaning in that form of words she used,
when she asked her God to forgive her as she might forgive
others ? Not that Margaret had in truth trespassed against
her at all ; but, doubtless, she regarded her niece as a black
trespasser, and as being quite qualified for forgiveness,
could she have brought herself to forgive. But I fear that
the form of words on that occasion meant nothing, and that
she had been delivered from no evil during those moments
she had been on her knees. Margaret sat down in her
accustomed place, tyit no notice was taken of her by her
aunt. When the tea had been poured out, John got up from
his seat and asked his mother which was Margaret's cup.

" My dear," said she, " if you will sit down.Miss Mackenzie
shall have her tea."

"I will take it to her," said he.

" John," said his mother, drawing her chair somewhat
away from the table, " if you flurry me in this way, you will
drive me out of the room."

Then he had sat down, and Margaret received her cup
in the usual way. The girls and children stared at each
other, and the governess, who always breakfasted at the
house, did not dare to lift her eyes from off her plate.

Margaret longed for an opportunity of starting with John
Ball, and walking with him to the station, but no such
opportunity came in her way. It was his custom always to
go up to his father before he left home, and on this occasion
Margaret did not see him after he quitted the breakfast
table. When the clatter of the knives and cups was over,
and the eating and drinking was at an end, Lady Ball left
the room, and Margaret began to think what she would do.
She could not remain about the house in her aunt's way,
without being spoken to, or speaking. So she went to her
room, resolving that she would not leave it till the carriage
had taken off Sir John and her aunt. Then she would go
out for her walk and would again meet her cousin at tha
station,

27*2 MISS MACKENZIE.

From her bedroom window she could see the sweep before
the front of the house, and at two o'clock she saw and heard
the lumbering of the carriage as it came to the door, and
then she put on her hat to be ready for her walk ; but her
uncle and aunt did not, as it seemed, come out, and the
carriage remained there as a fixture. This had been the
case for some twenty minutes, when there came a knock at
her own door, and the maid-servant told her that her aunt
wished to see her in the drawing-room.

" To see me ? " said Margaret, thoroughly surprised, and
not a little dismayed.

" Yes, Miss ; and there's a gentleman there who asked for
you when he first come."

Now, indeed, she was dismayed. Who could be the
gentleman ? Was it Mr. Slow, or a myrmidon from Mr.
Slew's legal abode ? Or was it Mr. Rubb with his yellow
gloves again ? Whoever it was there must be something
very special in his mission, as her aunt had, in consequence,
deferred her drive, and was also apparently about to drop
her purpose of cutting her niece's acquaintance in her own
house.

But we will go back to Mr. Maguire. He had passed the
evening and the morning in thinking over the method of
his attack, and had at last resolved that he would be very
bold. He would go down to the Cedars, and claim Margaret
as his affianced bride. He went, therefore, down to the
Cedars, and in accordance with his plan as arranged, he
gave his card to the servant, and asked if he could see Sir
John Ball alone. Now, Sir John Ball never saw any one on
business, or, indeed, not on business ; and, after a while, word
was brought out to Mr. Maguire that he could see Lady
Ball, but that Sir John was not well enough to receive any
visitors. Lady Ball, Mr. Maguire thought, would suit him
better than Sir John. He signified his will accordingly, arid
on being shown into the drawing-room, found her ladyship
there alone.

It must be acknowledged that he was a brave man, and
that he was doing a bold thing. He knew that he should
find himself among enemies, and that his claim would be
ignored and ridiculed by the persons whom he was about
to attack j he knew that everybody, on first seeing him,

MR. MAGU1EE GOES TO LONDON ON BUSINESS. 273

was affrighted and somewhat horrified ; he knew too, —
at least, we must presume that he knew, — that the lady
herself had given him no promise. But he thought it
possible, nay, almost probable, that she would turn to him
if she saw him again j that she might own him as her
own ; that her feelings might be strong enough in his
favour to induce her to throw off the thraldom of her
relatives, and that he might make good his ground in
her breast, even if he could not bear her away in triumph
out of the hands of his enemies.

When he entered the room Lady Ball looked at him
and shuddered. People always did shudder when they saw
him for the first time.

" Lady Ball," said he, " I am the Rev. Mr. Maguire, of
Littlebath."

She was holding his card in her hand, and having notified
to him that she was aware of the fact he had mentioned,
asked him to sit down.

" I have called," said he, taking his seat, " hoping
to be allowed to speak to you on a subject of extreme
delicacy."

" Indeed," said Lady Ball, thinking to catch his eye, and
failing in the effort.

"I may say of very extreme delicacy. I believe your
niece, Miss Margaret Mackenzie, is staying here ? "

In answer to this, Lady Ball acknowledged that Miss
Mackenzie was now at the Cedars.

"Have you any objection, Lady Ball, to allowing me to
see her in your presence ? "

Lady Ball was a quick-thinking, intelligent, and, at the
same time, prudent old lady, and she gave no answer to this
before she had considered the import of the question. Why
should this clergyman want to see Margaret ? And would
his seeing her conduce most to her own success, or to
Margaret's ? Then there was the fact that Margaret was
of an age which entitled her to the right of seeing any visitor
who might call on her. Thinking over all this as best she
could in the few moments at her command, and thinking
also of this clergyman's stipulation that she was to be
present at the interview, she said that she had no objection
whatever. She would send for Miss Mackenzie.
18

274 MISS MACKENZIE.

She rose to ring the bell, but Mr. Maguiro, also rising
from his chair, stopped her hand.

" Pardon me for a moment," said he. " Before you call
Margaret to come down I would wish to explain to you for
what purpose I have come here."

Lady Ball, when she heard the man call her niece by her
Christian name, listened with all her ears. Under no
circumstances but one could such a man call such a woman
by her Christian name in such company.

" Lady Ball," he said, " I do not know whether you may
be aware of it or no, but I am engaged to marry your
niece."

Lady Ball, who had not yet resumed her seat, now
did so.

" I had not heard of it," she said.

"It may be so," said Mr. Maguire.

"It is so," said Lady Ball.

" Very probably. There are many reasons which operate
.upon young ladies in such a condition to keep their secret
even from their nearest relatives. For myself, being a
clergyman of the Church of England, professing evangelical
doctrines, and therefore, as I had need not say, averse to
everything that may have about it even a seeming of im-
propriety, I think it best to declare the fact to you, even
though in doing so I may perhaps give some offence to dear
Margaret."

It must, I think, be acknowledged that Mr. Maguire was
true to himself, and that he was conducting his case at any
rate with courage.

Lady Ball was doubtful what she would do. It was on
her tongue to tell the man that her niece's fortune was gone.
But she remembered that she might probably advance
her own interests by securing an interview between the
two lovers of Littlebath in her own presence. She never
for a moment doubted that Mr. Maguire's statement was
true. It never occurred to her that there had been no
such engagement. She felt confident from the moment
in which Mr. Maguire's important tidings had reached
her ears that she had now in her hands the means of
rescuing her son. That Mr. Maguire would cease to make
his demand for his bride when he should hear the truth,

MR. MAGUIRE GOES TO LONDON ON BUSINESS. 275

was of course to be expected ; but her son would not be
such an idiot, such a soft fool, as to go on with his
purpose when he should learn that such a secret as this
had been kept back from him. She had refused him, and
taken up with this horrid, greasy, evil-eyed parson when
she was rich ; and then, when she was poor, — even before
she had got rid of her other engagement, she had come
back upon him, and, playing upon his pity, had secured
him in her toils. Lady Ball felt well inclined to thank
the clergyman for coming to her relief at such a moment,

"It will be best that I should ask my niece to coma
down to you," said she, getting up and walking out of the
room.

But she did not go up to her niece. She first went to
Sir John and quieted his impatience with reference to the
driving, and then, after a few minutes' further delay for con-
sideration, she sent the servant up to her niece. Having
done this she returned to the drawing-room, and found Mr.
Maguire looking at the photographs on the table.

"It is very like dear Margaret, very like her, indeed,"
said he, looking at one of Miss Mackenzie. " The sweetest
face that ever my eyes rested on ! May I ask you if you
have just seen your niece, Lady Ball ? "

" No, Sir, I have not seen her ; but I have sent for her."

There was still some little delay before Margaret came
down. She was much fluttered, and wanted time to think,
if only time could be allowed to her. Perhaps there had
come a man to say that her money was not gone. If so,
with what deligh't would she give it all to her cousin John !
That was her first thought. But if so, how then about the
promise made to her dying brother ? She almost wished
that the money might not be hers. Looking to herself only,
and to her own happiness, it would certainly be better for
her that it should not be hers. And if it should be Mr.
Kubb with the yellow gloves ! But before she could consider
that alternative she had opened the door, and there was Mr.
Maguire standing ready to receive her.

" Dearest Margaret ! " he exclaimed. " My own love ! "
And there he stood, with his arms open, as though he
expected Miss Mackenzie to rush into them. He was cer-
tainly a man of very great courage.
18—2

276 MISS MACKENZIE.

" Mr. Maguire ! " said she, and she stood still near cue
door. Then she looked at her aunt, and saw that Lady
Ball's eyes were keenly fixed upon her. Something like
the truth, some approximation to the facts as they were,
flashed upon her in a moment, and she knew that she had
to bear herself in this difficulty with all her discretion and
all her fortitude.

"Margaret," exclaimed Mr. Maguire, "will you not come
to me ? "

" What do you mean, Mr. Maguire ? " said she, still
standing aloof from him, and retreating somewhat nearer
to the door.

" The gentleman says that you are engaged to marry
him," said Lady Ball.

Margaret, looking again into her aunt's face, saw the
smile of triumph that sat there, and resolved at once to
make good her ground.

" If he has said that, he has told an untruth, — an untruth
both unmanly and unmannerly. You hear, Sir, what Lady
Ball has stated. Is it true that you have made such an
assertion ? "

" And will you contradict it, Margaret ? Oh, Margaret !
Margaret ! you cannot contradict it."

The reader must remember that this clergyman no doubt
thought and felt that he had a good deal of truth on
his side. Gentlemen when they make offers to ladies, and
are told by ladies that they may come again, and that
time is required for consideration, are always disposed to
think that the difficulties of the siege are over. And in
nine cases out of ten it is so. Mr. Maguire, no doubt,
since the interview in question, had received letters from
the lady which should at any rate have prevented him
from uttering any such assertion as that which he had
now made ; but he looked upon those letters as the work
of the enemy, and chose to go back for his authority to
the last words which Margaret had spoken to him. He
knew that he was playing an intricate game ; — that all
was not quite on the square ; but he thought that the
enemy was playing him false, and that falsehood in return
was therefore fair. This that was going on was a robbery
of the Church, a spoiling of Israel, a touching with

ME. MAGUIRE GOES TO LONDON ON BUSINESS. 277

profane hands of things that had already been made
sacred.

" But I do contradict it," said Margaret, stepping forward
into the room, and almost exciting admiration in Lady
Ball's breast by her demeanour. " Aunt," said she, " as
this gentleman has chosen to come here with such a story as
this, I must tell you all the facts."

" Has he ever been engaged to you ? " asked Lady Ball.

" Never."

" Oh, Margaret ! " again exclaimed Mr. Maguire.

" Sir, I will ask you to let me tell my aunt the truth.
When I was at Littlebath, before I knew that my fortune
was not my own," — as she said this she looked hard into
Mr. Maguire's face, — " before I had become penniless, as I
am now," — then she paused again, and still looking at
him, saw with inward pleasure the elongation of her suitor's
face, " this gentleman asked me to marry him."

" He did ask you ? " said Lady Ball.

" Of course I asked her," urged Mr. Maguire. " There
can be no denying that on either side."

He did not now quite know what to do. He certainly did
not wish to impoverish the Church by marrying Miss
Mackenzie without any fortune. But might it not all be a
trick ? That she had been rich he knew, and how could she
have become poor so quickly?

" He did ask me, and I told him that I must take a fort-
night to consider of it."

"You did not refuse him, then ? " said Lady Ball.

" Not then, but I have done so since by letter. Twice I
have written to him, telling him that I had nothing of my
own, and that there could be nothing between us."

" I got her letters," said Mr. Maguire, turning round to
Lady Ball. "I certainly got her letters. But such letters
as those, if they are written under dictation "

He was rather anxious that Lady Bali should quarrel
with him. In the programme which he had made for him-
self when he came to the house, a quarrel to the knife with
the Ball family was a part of his tactics. His programme,
no doubt, was disturbed by the course which events had
taken, but still a quarrel with Lady Ball might be the best
for him. If she were to quarrel with him, it would give

278 MISS MACKENZIE.

him some evidence that this story about the loss of tha
money was untrue. But Lady Ball would not quarrel with
him. She sat still and said nothing.

" Nobody dictated them," said Margaret. " But now you
are here, I will tell you the facts. The money which I
thought was mine, in truth belongs to my cousin, Mr. John
Ball, and I "

So far she spoke loudly, with her face raised, and her eyes
fixed upon him. Then as she concluded, she dropped her
voice and eyes together. " And I am now engaged to him
as his wife."

" Oh, indeed ! " said Mr. Maguire.

" That statement must be taken for what it is worth,'*
said Lady Ball, rising from her seat. "Of what Miss
Mackenzie says now, I know nothing. I sincerely hope that
she may find that she is mistaken."

"And now, Margaret," said Mr. Maguire, "may I ask to
see you for one minute alone ? "

" Certainly not," said she. " If you have anything more
to say I will hear it in my aunt's presence." She waited a
few moments, but as he did not speak, she took herself back
to the door and made her escape to her own room.

How Mr. Maguire took himself out of the house we need
not stop to inquire. There must, I should think, have been
some difficulty in the manoeuvre. It was considerably past
three when Sir John was taken out for his drive, and
while he was in the carriage his wife told him what had
occurred.

STILL AT THE CEDARS. 279

CHAPTER

STILL AT THE CEDARS.

MARGARET, when she had reached her own room, and
seated herself so that she could consider all that had
occurred in quietness, immediately knew her own difficulty.
Of course Lady Ball would give her account of what had
occurred to her son, and of course John would be angry
when he learned that there had been any purpose of
marriage between her and Mr. Maguire. She herself took
a different view of the matter now than that which had
hitherto presented itself. She had not thought much of
Mr. Maguire or his proposal. It had been made under a
state of things differing much from that now existing,
and the change that had come upon her affairs had
seemed to her to annul the offer. She had learned to
regard it almost as though it had never been. There
had been no engagement ; there had hardly been a purpose
in her own mind; and the moment had never come in
which she could have spoken of it to her cousin with
propriety.

That last, in truth, was her valid excuse for not having
told him the whole story. She had hardly been with
him long enough to do more than accept the offer he had
himself made. Of course she would have told him of Mr.
Maguire ; — of Mr. Maguire and of Mr. Rubb also, when
first an opportunity might come for her to do so. She
had no desire to keep from his knowledge any tittle of
what had occurred. There had been nothing of which she
was ashamed. But not the less did she feel that it would

280 MISS MACKENZIE.

have been well for her that she should have told her
own story before that horrid man had come to the Cedars.
The story would now first be told to him by her aunt,
and ohe knew well the tone in which it would be told.

It occurred to her that she might even yet go and meet
him at the station. But if so, she must tell him at once,
and he would know that she had done so because she
was afraid of her aunt, and she disliked the idea of
excusing herself before she was accused. If he really
loved her, he would listen to her, and believe her. If he
did not, — why then let Lady Ball have her own way.
She had promised to be firm, and she would keep her
promise ; but she would not intrigue with the hope of
making him firm. If he was infirm of purpose, let him
go. So she sat in her room, even when she heard the
door close after his entrance, and did not go down till
it was time for her to show herself in the drawing-room
before dinner. When she entered the room was full.
He nodded at her with a pleasant smile, and she made
up her mind that he had heard nothing as yet. Her
uncle had excused himself from coming to table, and
her aunt and John were talking together in apparent
eagerness about him. For one moment her cousin spoke
to her before dinner.

"I am afraid," he said, "that my father is sinking
fast,"

Then she felt quite sure that he had as yet heard nothing
about Mr. Maguire.

But it was late in the evening, when other people had
gone to bed, that Lady Ball was in the habit of discussing
family affairs with her son, and doubtless she would do
so to-night. Margaret, before she went up to her room,
strove hard to get from him a few words of kindness,
but it seemed as though he was not thinking of her.

" He is full of his father," she said to herself.

When her bed-candle was in her hand she did make an
opportunity to speak to him.

"Has Mr. Slow settled anything more as yet?" she
asked.

"Well, yes. Not that he has settled anything, but he has
made a proposition to which I am willing to agree. I don't

STILL AT THE CEDARS. 281

go up to town to-morrow, and we will talk it over. If you
will agree to it, all the money difficulties will be settled."

"I will agree to anything that you tell me is right."

" I will explain it all to you to-morrow ; and, Margaret,
I have told Mr. Slow what are my intentions ; — our in-
tentions, I ought to say." She smiled at him with that
sweet smile of hers, as though she thanked him for speaking
of himself and her together, and then she took herself away.
Surely, after speaking to her in that way, he would not
allow any words from his mother to dissuade him from his
purpose ?

She could not go to bed. She knew that her fate was
being discussed, and she knew that her aunt at that very
time was using every argument in her power to ruin her.
She felt, moreover, that the story might be told in such a
way as to be terribly prejudicial to her. And now, when
his father was so ill, might it not be very natural that he
should do almost anything to lessen his mother's troubles ?
But to her it would be absolute ruin ; such ruin that nothing
which she had yet endured would be in any way like it.
The story of the loss of her money had stunned her, but it
had not broken her spirit. Her misery from that had arisen
chiefly from the wants of her brother's family. But if he
were now to tell her that all must be over between them,
her very heart would be broken.

She could not go to bed while this was going on, so she
sat listening, till she should hear the noise of feet about the
house. Silently she loosened the lock of her own door, so
that the sound might more certainly come to her, and she
sat thinking what she might best do. It had not been quite
eleven when she came up stairs, and at twelve she did not
hear anything. And yet she was almost sure that they must
be still together in that small room down stairs, talking of
her and of her conduct. It was past one before she heard
the door of the room opened. She heard it so plainly, that
she wondered at herself for having supposed for a moment
that they could have gone without her noticing them. Then
she heard her cousin's heavy step coming up stairs. In
passing to his room he would not go actually by her door,
but would be very near it. She looked through the chink,
having carefully put away her own candle, and could see his

282 MISS MACKENZIE.

face as he came upon the top stair. It wore a look of trouble
and of pain, but not, as she thought, of anger. Her aunt,
she knew, would go to her room by the back stairs, and
would go through the kitchen and over the whole of the
lower house, before she would come out on the landing to
which Margaret's room opened. Then, seeing her cousin,
the idea occurred to her that she would have it all over on
that very night. If he had heard that which changed his
purpose, why should she be left in suspense ? He should tell
her at once, and at once she would prepare herself for her
future life.

So she opened the door a little way, and called to
him.

" John," she said, "is that you ? "

She spoke almost in a whisper, but, nevertheless, he
heard her very clearly, and at once turned towards her
room.

" Come, in, John," she said, opening the door wider. " I
wish to speak to you. I have been waiting till you should
come up."

She had taken off her dress, and had put on in place
of it a white dressing-gown ; but of this she had not
thought till he was already within the room. I hope you
won't mind finding me like this, but I did so want to speak
to you to-night."

He, as he looked at her, felt that he had no objection to
make to her appearance. If that had been his only trouble
concerning her he would have been well satisfied. When he
was within the room, she closed the lock of the door very
softly, and then began to question him.

"Tell me," she said, "what my aunt has been saying to
you about that man that came here to-day."

He did not answer her at once, but stood leaning against
the bed.

" I know she has been telling you," continued
Margaret. "I know she. would not let you go to bed
without accusing me. Tell me, John, what she has told
you."

He was very slow to speak. As he had sat listening to his
mother's energetic accusation against the woman he had
promised to marry, hearing her bring up argument after

• STILL AT THE CEDARS, 283

argument to prove that Margaret had, in fact, been engaged
to that clergyman, — that she had intended to marry that
man while she had money, and had not, up to that day,
made him fully understand that she would not do so ; — he
had himself said little or nothing, claiming to himself the use
of that night for consideration. The circumstances against
Margaret he owned to be very strong. He felt angry with
her for having had any lover at Littlebath. It was but the
other day, during her winter visit to the Cedars, that he had
himself proposed to her, and that she had rejected him. He
had now renewed his proposal, and he did not like to think
that there had been any one else between his overtures. And
he could not deny the strength of his mother's argument
when she averred that Mr. Maguire would not have come
down there unless he had had, as she said, every encourage-
ment. Indeed, throughout the whole affair, Lady Ball be-
lieved Mr. Maguire, and disbelieved her niece; and some-
thing of her belief, and something also of her disbelief,
communicated itself to her son. But, still, he reserved to
himself the right of postponing his own opinion till the
morrow ; and as he was coming up stairs, when Margaret
saw him through the chink of the door, he was thinking of
her smiles, of her graciousness, and her goodness. He was
remembering the touch of her hand when they were together
in the square, and the feminine sweetness with which she
had yielded to him every point regarding her fortune.
When he did not speak to her at once, she questioned him
again.

"I know she has told you that Mr. Maguire haa
been here, and that she has accused me of deceiving
you."

" Yes, Margaret, she has."

" And what have you said in return ; or rather, what
have you thought ? "

He had been leaning, or half sitting, on the bed, and she
had placed herself beside him. How was it that she had
again taken him by the coat, and again looked up into hia
face with those soft, trusting eyes ? Was it a trick with
her ? Had she ever taken that other man by the coat in
the same way, and smitten him also with the battery of her
eyes ? The loose sleeve of her dressing-gown had fallen

284 MISS MACKENZIE.

back, and he could see that her arm was round and white,
and very fair. Was she conversant with such tricks as
these ? His mother had called her clever and cunning as a
serpent. Was it so ? Had his mother seen with eyes
clearer than his own, and was he now being surrounded by
the meshes of a false woman's web ? He moved away from
her quickly, and stood upon the hearth-rug with his back to
the empty fire grate.

Then she stood up also.

" John," she said, " if you have condemned me, say so. I
shall defend myself for the sake of my character, but I shall
not ask you to come back to me."

Bat he had not condemned her. He had not condemned
her altogether, neither had he acquitted her. He was willing
enough to hear her defence, as he had heard his mother's
accusation ; but he was desirous of hearing it without com-
mitting himself to any opinion.

" I have been much surprised," he said, " by what my
mother has now told me ; — very much surprised indeed. If
Mr. Maguire had any claim upon your hand, should you not
have told me ? "

"He had no claim; but no doubt it was right that I
should tell you. I was bound by my duty to tell you every-
thing that had occurred."

" Of course you were, — and yet you did not do it."

" Bat I was not so bound before what you said to me
in the shrubbery last night? Remember, John, it was
but last night. Have I had a moment to speak to
you ? "

" If there was any question of engagement between
you and him, you should have told it me then, on the
instant."

" But there was no question. He came to me one day and
made me an offer. I will tell you everything, and I think
you will believe me. I found him holding a position of re-
spect, at Littlebath, and I was all alone in the world. Why
should I not listen to l^m ? I gave him no answer, but told
him to speak to me again after a while. Then came my poor
brother's illness and death ; and after that came, as you
know, the loss of all my money. In the meantime Mr.
Maguire had written, but as I knew that my brother's family

STILL AT THE CEDARS. 285

must trust to me for their support, — that, at least, John was
my hope then, — I answered him that my means were not
the same as before, and that everything must be over. Then
he wrote to me again after I lost my money, and once I
answered him. I wrote to him so that he should know thai
nothing could come of it. Here are all his letters, and I
have a copy of the last I wrote to him." So saying,
she pulled the papers out of her desk, — the desk in which
still lay the torn shreds of her poetry, — and handed them
to him. "After that, what right had he to come here
and make such a statement as he did to my aunt ? How
can he be a gentleman, and say what was so false ? "

"No one says that he is a gentleman," replied John
Ball, as he took the proffered papers.

" I have told you all now," said she ; and as she
spoke, a gleam of anger flashed from her eyes, for she
was not in all respects a Griselda such as she of old.
" I have told you all now, and if further excuse be want-
ing, I have none further to make."

Slowly he read the letters, still standing up on the
hearth-rug, and then he folded them again into their
shapes, and slowly gave them back to her.

" There is no doubt," said he, " as to his being a black-
guard. He was hunting for your money, and now that
he knows you have got none, he will trouble you no
further." Then he made a move from the place on which
he stood, as if he were going.

"And is that to be all, John ? " she said.
" I shall see you to-morrow," he replied. " I am not
going to town."

" But is that to be all to-night ? "
" It is very late," and he looked at his watch. " I do
not see that any good can come of talking more about it
now. Good-night to you."
"Good-night," she said.

Then she waited till the door was closed, and when he
was gone she threw herself upon the bed. Alas ! alas !
Now once more was she ruined, and her present ruin was
ruin indeed.

She threw herself on the bed, and sobbed as though
she would have broken her heart in the bitterness of her

286 MISS MACKENZIE.

spirit, She had told him the plainest; simplest, truest
story, and he had received it without one word of com-
ment in her favour, — without one sign to show that her
truthfulness had been acknowledged by him ! He had told
her that this man, who had done her so great an injury, was
a blackguard ; but of her own conduct he had not allowed
himself to speak. She knew that his judgment had gone
against her, and though she felt it to be hard, — very hard,
— she resolved that she would make no protest against it.
Of course she would leave the Cedars. Only a few hours
since she had assured herself that it was her duty hencefor-
ward to obey him in everything. But that was now all
changed. Whatever he might say to the contrary, she would
go. If he chose to follow her whither she went, and again
ask her to be his wife, she would receive him with open
arms. Oh, yes ; let him only once again own that she was
worthy of him, and then she would sit at his feet and confess
her folly, and ask his pardon a thousand times for the
trouble she had given him. But unless he were to do this
she would never again beg for favour. She had made her
defence, and had, as she felt, made it in vain. She would not
condescend to say one other word in excuse of her conduct.

As for her aunt, all terms between Lady Ball and herself
must be at an end. Lady Ball had passed a day with her in
the house without speaking to her, except when that man
had come, and then she had taken part with him ! Her
aunt, she thought, had been untrue to hospitality in not de-
fending the guest within her own walls ; she had been un-
true to her own blood in not defending her husband's niece ;
but, worse than all that, ten times worse, she had been un-
true as from one woman to another ! Margaret, as she
thought of this, rose from the bed and walked wildly
through the room unlike any Griselda. No ; she would have
no terms with Lady Ball. Lady Ball had understood it all,
though John had not done so ! She had known how it all
was, and had pretended not to know. Because she had an
object of her own to gain, she had allowed these calumnies
to be believed ! Let come what might, they should all know
that Margaret Mackenzie, poor, wretched, destitute as she
was, had still spirit enough to resent such injuries as
these.

STILL AT THE CEDARS. 287

In the morning she sent down word by one of her young
cousins that she would not come to breakfast, and she asked
that some tea might be sent up to her.

"Is she in bed, my dear ? " asked Lady Ball.

" No, she is not in bed," said Jane Ball. " She is sit-
ting up, and has got all her things about the room as
though she were packing."

" What nonsense ! " said Lady Ball ; " why does she not
come down ? "

Then Isabella, the eldest girl, was sent up to her, but
Margaret refused to show herself.

" She says she would rather not ; but she wants to know
if papa will walk out with her at ten."

Lady Ball again said that this was nonsense, but tea and
toast were at last supplied to her, and her cousin promised
to be ready at the hour named. Exactly at ten o'clock,
Margaret opened the school- room door, and asked one of the
girls to tell her father that she would be found on the walk
leading to the long shrubbery.

There on the walk she remained, walking slowly back-
wards and forwards over a space of twenty yards, till he
joined her. She gave him her hand, and then turned to-
wards the long shrubbery, and he, following her direction,
walked at her side.

" John," she said, " you will not be surprised at my telling
you that, after what has occurred, I shall leave this place
to-day."

" You must not do that," he said.

" Ah, but I must do it. There are some things, John,
which no woman should bear or need bear. After what has
occurred it is not right that I should incur your mother's
displeasure any longer. All my things are ready. I want
you to have them taken down to the one o'clock train."

" No, Margaret ; I will not consent to that."

" But, John, I cannot consent to anything else. Yesterday
was a terrible day for me. I don't think you can know how
terrible. What I endured then no one has a right to expect
that I should endure any longer. It was necessary that I
should say something to you of what had occurred, and that
I said last night. I have no further call to remain here, and,
most positively, I shall go to-day."

288 MISS MACKENZIE.

He looked into her face and saw that she was resolved,
but yet he was not minded to give way. He did not like
to think that all authority over her was passing out of his
hands. During the night he had not made up his mind to
pardon her at once. Nay, he had not yet told himself that
he would pardon her at all. But he was prepared to receive
her tears and excuses, and we may say that, in all proba-
bility, he would have pardoned her had she wept before him
and excused herself. But though she could shed tears on
this matter, — though, doubtless, there were many tears to be
shed by her, — she would shed no more before him in token
of submission. If he would first submit, then, indeed, she
might weep on his shoulder or laugh on his breast, as his
mood might dictate.

" Margaret," he said, " we have very much to talk over
before you can go."

" There will be time for that between this and one. Look
here, John ; I have made up my mind to go. After what
took place yesterday, it will be better for us all that we
should be apart."

" I don't see that, unless, indeed, you are determined to
quarrel with us altogether. I suppose my wishes in the
matter will count for something."

" Yesterday morning they would have counted for every-
thing ; but not this morning."

" And why not, Margaret ? "

This was a question to which it was so difficult to find a
reply, that she left it unanswered. They both walked on in
silence for some paces, and then she spoke again.

" You said yesterday that you had been with Mr. Slow,
and that you had something to tell me. If you still wish to
tell me anything, perhaps you can do so now."

"Everything seems to be so much changed," said he,
speaking very gloomily.

" Yes," said she ; " things are changed. But my confi-
dence in Mr. Slow, and in you, is not altered. If you like it,
you can settle everything about the money without consult-
ing me. I shall agree to anything about that."

" I was going to propose that your brother's family should
have the debt due by the B/ubbs. Mr. Slow thinks he might
SO manage as to secure the payment of the interest."

STILL AT THE CEDARS.

Very well ; I shall be delighted that it should be so. I
had hoped that they would have had more, but that of course
is all over. I cannot give them what is not mine."

But this arrangement, which would have been pleasant
enough before, — which seemed to be very pleasant when
John Ball was last in Mr. Slow's chambers, telling that
gentleman that he was going to make everything smooth by
marrying his cousin, — was not by any means so pleasant
now. He had felt, when he was mentioning the proposed
arrangement to Margaret, that the very naming of it seemed
to imply that Mr. Maguire and his visit were to go for no-
thing. If Mr. Maguire and his visit were to go for much, —
to go for all that which Lady Ball wished to make of them,
— then, in such a case as that, the friendly arrangement in
question would not hold water. If that were to be so, they
must all go to work again, and Mr. Slow must be told to
do the best in his power for his own client. John Ball was
by no means resolved to obey his mother implicitly and
make so much of Mr. Maguire and his visit as all this ; but
how could he help doing so if Margaret would go away ?
He could not as yet bring himself to tell her that Mr.
Maguire and the visit should go altogether for nothing.
He shook his head in his trouble, and pished and
pshawed.

" The truth is, Margaret, you can't go to-day."

" Indeed I shall, John," said she, smiling. " You would
hardly wish to keep me a prisoner, and the worst you could
do would be to keep my luggage from me."

" Then I must say that you are very obstinate."

" It is not very often that I resolve to have my own way ;
but I have resolved now, and you should not try to balk
me."

They had now come round nearly to the house, and she
showed, by the direction that she took, that she was going
in.

"You will go? "said he.

"Yes," said she ; "I will go. My address will be at tho
old house in Arundel Street. Shall I see you again before
I go ? " she asked him, when she stood on the door-step
"Perhaps you will be busy, and I had better say
good-bye."
19

290 MISS MACKENZIE.

" Good-bye," said he, very gloomily ; but he took her
hand.

" I suppose I had better not disturb my uncle. You will
give him my love. And, John, you will tell some one about
my luggage ; will you not ? "

He muttered some affirmative, and then went round from
the front of the house, while she entered the hall.

It was now half-past eleven, and she intended to start at
half-past twelve. She went into the drawing-room, and not
finding her aunt, rang the bell. Lady Ball was with Sir
John, she was told. She then wrote a note on a scrap of
paper, and sent it in :

" DEAR AUNT, — I leave here at half-past twelve. Perhaps
you would like to see me before I go.

"M. M."

Then, while she was waiting for an answer, she went
into the school-room, and said good-bye to ail the
children.

" But you are coming back, aunt Meg," said the youngest
girl.

Margaret stooped down to kiss her, and, when the
child saw and felt the tears, she asked no further
questions.

"Lady Ball is in the drawing-room, Miss," a servant
said at that moment, and there she went to fight her
last battle !

" What's the meaning of this, Margaret ? " said her
aunt.

" Simply that I am going. I was to have gone on
Monday, as you will remember."

" But it was understood that you were to stop."

For a moment or two Margaret said nothing.

" I hate these sudden changes," said Lady Ball ; " they
are hardly respectable. I don't think you should leave the
house in this way, without having given notice to any one.
What will the servants think of it ? "

" They will probably think the truth, aunt. They pro-
bably thought that, when they saw that you did not speak
to me yesterday morning. You can hardly imagine that I

STILL AT THE CEDAES. 29l

should stay in the house under such circumstances as
that."

" You must do as you like, of course."

" In this instance I must, aunt. I suppose I cannot see
my uncle? "

" It is quite out of the question."

" Then I will say good-bye to you. I have said good-bye
to John. Good-bye, aunt," and Margaret put out her
hand.

But Lady Ball did not put out hers.

"Good-bye, Margaret," she said. "There are circum-
stances under which it is impossible for a person to make
any expression of feeling that maybe taken for approbation*
I hope a time may come when these things shall have
passed away, and that I may be able to see you again."

Margaret's eyes, as she made her way out of the room,
were full of tears, and when she found herself outside the
hall door, and at the bottom of the steps, she was obliged to
put her handkerchief up to them. Before her on the road
was a boy with a donkey cart and her luggage. She looked
round furtively, half fearing, half hoping, — hardly expecting
but yet thinking*, that she might again see her cousin. But
he did not show himself to her as she walked down to the
railway station by herself. As she went she told herself
that she was right j she applauded her own courage ; but
what, oh ! what was she to do ? Everything now was over
for her. Her fortune was gone. The man whom she had
learned to love had left her. There was no place in the
world on which her feet might rest till sho had made one
for herself by the work of her hands. And as for friends ; —
was there a single being in the world whom she could now
call her friend ?

19—2

202 MISS MACKENZIE.

CHAPTER XXIH.

THE LODGINGS OP MRS. BUGGINS, 1160 PROTHEROB.

IT was nearly the end of October when Miss Mackenzie
left the Cedars, and at that time of the year there is not
much difficulty in getting lodgings in London. The house
which her brother Walter occupied in Arundel Street had,
at his death, remained in the hands of an old servant of his,
who had bought her late master's furniture with her savings,
and had continued to live there, letting out the house in
lodgings. Her former mistress had gone to see her once or
twice during the past year, and it had been understood be-
tween them, that if Miss Mackenzie ever wanted a room for
a night or two in London, she could be accommodated at the
old house. She would have preferred to write to Hannah
Protheroe, — or Mrs. Protheroe, as she was now called by
brevet rank since she had held a house of her own, — had
time permitted her to do so. But time and the circumstances
did not permit this, and therefore she had herself driven to
Arundel Street without any notice.

Mrs. Protheroe received her with open arms, and with
many promises of comfort and attendance, — as was to be
expected, seeing that Mrs. Protheroe was, as she thought,
receiving into her house the rich heiress. She proffered at
once the use of her drawing-room and of the best bedroom,
and declared that as the house was now empty, with the ex-
ception of one young gentleman from Somerset House up
stairs, she would be able to devote herself almost exclusively
to Miss Mackenzie. Things were much changed from those
former days in which Hannah Protheroe used frequently to

THE LODGINGS OP MES. BUGGINS. 293

snub Margaret Mackenzie, being almost of equal standing in
the house with her young mistress. And now Margaret was
called upon to explain, that low as her standing might have
been then, at this present moment it was even lower. She
had indeed the means of paying for her lodgings, but these
she was called upon to husband with the minutest economy.
The task of telling all this was difficult. She began it by
declining the drawing-room, and by saying that a bedroom
up stairs would suffice for her.

" You haven't heard, Hannah, what has happened to me,"
she said, when Mrs. Protheroe expressed her surprise at this
decision. " My brother's will was no will at all. I do not
get any of his property. It all goes under some other will
to my cousin, Mr. John Ball."

By these tidings Hannah was of course prostrated, and
driven into a state of excitement that was not without its
pleasantness as far as she was concerned. Of course she
objected that the last will must be the real will, and in this
way the matter came to full discussion between them.

" And, after all, that John Ball is to have everything ! "
said Mrs. Protheroe, holding up both her hands.

By this time Hannah Protheroe had got herself comfort-
ably into a chair, and no doubt her personal pleasure in the
evening's occupation was considerably enhanced by the un-
conscious feeling that she was the richer woman of the two.
But she behaved very well, and I am inclined to think, in
preparing buttered muffins for her guest, she was more par-
ticular in the toasting, and more generous with the butter,
than she would have been had she been preparing the
dainty for drawing-room use. And when she learned that
Margaret had eaten nothing since breakfast, she herself
went out and brought in a sweetbread with her own hand,
though she kept a servant whom she might have sent to the
shop. And, for the honour of lodging-house keepers, I pro-
test that that sweetbread never made its appearance in any
bill.

" You will be more comfortable down here with me,
won't you, my dear, than up there, with not a creature to
speak to ? "

In this way Mrs. Protheroe made her apology for giving
Miss Mackenzie her tea down stairs, in a little back parlour

29-4 MISS MACKENZIE.

fcehind the kitchen. It was a tidy room, with two wooden
arm chairs, and a bit of carpet over the flags in the centre,
and a rug before the fire. Margaret did not inquire why it
Smelt of tobacco, nor did Mrs. Protheroe think it necessary
to give any explanation why she went up herself at half-past
seven to answer the bell at the area ; nor did she say any*
thing then of the office messenger from Somerset House.
who often found this little room convenient for his evening
pipe. So was passed the first evening after our Griselda
had left the Cedars.

The next day she sat at home doing nothing, — still talking
to Hannah Protheroe, and thinking that perhaps John Ball
might come. But he did not come. She dined down stairs,
at one o'clock, in the same room behind the kitchen, and
then she had tea at six. But as Hannah intimated that
perhaps a gentleman friend would look in during the even-
ing, she was obliged to betake herself, after tea, to the
solitude of her own room. As Hannah was between fifty
and sixty, and nearer the latter age than the former, there
could be no objection to her receiving what visitors she
pleased. The third day passed with Miss Mackenzie the
same as the second, and still no cousin came to see her. The
next day, being Sunday, she diversified by going to church
three times ; but on the Sunday she was forced to dine alone,
as the gentleman friend usually came in on that day to eat
his bit of mutton with his friend, Mrs. Protheroe.

" A most respectable man, in the Admiralty branch, Miss
Margaret, and will have a pension of twenty-seven shillings
and sixpence a week in a year or two. And it is so lonely
by oneself, you know."

Then Miss Mackenzie knew that Hannah Protheroe in-
tended to become Hannah Buggins, and she understood tho
whole mystery of the tobacco smoke.

On the Monday she went to the house in Gower Street,
and communicated to them the fact that she had left the
Cedars. Miss Colza was in the room with her sister-in-law
and nieces, and as it was soon evident that Miss Colza knew
the whole history of her misfortune with reference to the
property, she talked about her affairs before Miss Colza as
though that young lady had been one of her late brother's
family. But yet she felt that she did not like Miss

THE -LODGINGS OF MRS. BUGGINS. 295

Colza, and once or twice felt almost inclined to resent
certain pushing questions which Miss Colza addressed to
her.

" And have you quarrelled with all the Ball family ? " the
young lady asked, putting great emphasis on the word
all.

"I did not say that I had quarrelled with any of
them," said Miss Mackenzie.

" Oh ! I beg pardon. I thought as you came away so
sudden like, and as you didn't see any of them since, you
know "

" It is a matter of no importance whatever," said Miss
Mackenzie.

" No ; none in the least," said Miss Colza. And
in this way they made up their minds to hate each
other.

But what did the woman mean by talking in this way
of all the Balls, as though a quarrel with one of the
family was a thing of more importance than a quarrel
with any of the others ? Could she know, or could she
even guess, anything of John Ball and of the offer he
had made ? But this mystery was soon cleared up in
Margaret's mind, when, at Mrs. Mackenzie's request, they
two went up stairs into that lady's bedroom for a little
private conversation.

The conversation was desired for purposes appertaining
solely to the convenience of the widow. She wanted some
money, and then, with tears in her eyes, she demanded to
know what was to be done. Miss Colza paid her eighteen
shillings a week for board and lodging, and that was now
two weeks in arrear ; and one bedroom was let to a young
man employed in the oilcloth factory, at seven shillings a
week.

" And the rent is ninety pounds, and the taxes twenty-
two," said Mrs. Mackenzie, with her handkerchief up to her
eyes ; " and there's the taxman come now for seven pound
ten, and where I'm to get it, unless I coined my blood, I
don't know."

Margaret gave her two sovereigns which she had in her
purse, and promised to send her a cheque for the amount of
the taxes due. Then she told as much as she could tell of

296 MISS MACKENZIE.

that proposal as to the interest of the money due from the
firm in the New Road.

" If it could only be made certain," said the widow, who
had fallen much from her high ideas since Margaret had
last seen her. Things were greafcly changed in that house
since the day on which the dinner, a la Russe, had been
given under the auspices of Mr. Grandairs. " If it can only
be made certain. They still keep his name up in the firm.
There it is as plain as life over the place of business," — she
would cot even yet call it a shop, — " Bubb and Mackenzie ;
and yet they won't let me know anything as to how matters
are going on. I went there the other day, and they would
tell me nothing. And as for Samuel R/ubb, he hasn't been
here this last fortnight, and I've got no one to see me
righted. If you were to ask Mr. Slow, wouldn't he be able
to see me righted ? "

Margaret declared that she hardly knew whether that
would come within Mr. Slow's line of business, arid that
she did not feel herself competent to give advice on such
a point as that. She then explained, as best she could,
that her own affairs were not as yet settled, but that she
was led to hope, from what had been said to her, that
the interest due by the firm on the money borrowed
might become a fixed annual income for Mrs. Mackenzie's
benefit.

After that it came out that Mr. Maguire had again
been in Gower Street.

" And he was alone, for the best part of half an hour,
with that young woman down stairs," said Mrs. Mac-
kenzie.

" And you saw him ? " Margaret asked.

" Oh, yes ; I saw him afterwards."

" And what did he say ? "

" He didn't say much to me. Only he gave me to un-
derstand,— at least, that is what I suppose he meant,

— that you and he . He meant to say, that you and he

had been courting, I suppose."

Then Margaret understood why Miss Colza had desired to
know whether she had quarrelled with all the Balls. In
her open and somewhat indignant speech in the drawing-
room at the Cedars, she had declared before Mr. Maguire, in

1HB LODGINGS OF MRS. BUGGINS. 297

her aunt's presence, that she was engaged to marry her cousin,
John Ball. Mr. Maguire had now enlisted Miss Colza in his
service, and had told Miss Colza what had occurred. But
still Miss Mackenzie did not thoroughly understand the
matter. Why, she asked herself, should Mr. Maguire
trouble himself further, now that he knew that she had no
fortune ? " But, in truth, it was not so easy to satisfy Mr.
Maguire on that point, as it was to satisfy Miss Mackenzie
herself. He believed that the relatives of his lady-love
were robbing her, or that they were, at any rate, taking
advantage of her weakness. If it might be given to him
to rescue her and her fortune from them, then, in such case
as that, surely he would get his reward. The reader
will therefore understand why Miss Colza was anxious to
know whether Miss Mackenzie had quarrelled with all the
Balls.

Margaret's face became unusually black when she was
told that she and Mr. Maguire had been courting, but she did
not contradict the assertion. She did, however, express her
opinion of that gentleman.

" He is a mean, false, greedy man," she said, and then
paused a moment ; " and. he has been the cause of my ruin."
She would not, however, explain what she meant by this,
and left the house, without going back to the room in which
Miss Colza was sitting.

About a week afterwards she got a letter from Mr. Slow,
in which that gentleman, — or rather the firm, for the letter
was signed Slow and Bideawhile, — asked her whether she
she was in want of immediate funds. The affair between
her and her cousin was not yet, they said, in a state
for final settlement, but they would be justified in sup-
plying her own immediate wants out of the estate. To
this she sent a reply, saying that she had money for her
immediate wants, but that she would feel very grateful if
anything could be done for Mrs. Mackenzie and her family.
Then she got a further letter, very short, saying that a
half-year's interest on the loan had, by Mr. Ball's con-
sent, been paid to Mrs. Mackenzie by Rubb and Mac-
kenzie.

On the day following this, when she was sitting up in
her bedroom, Mrs. Protheroe came to her, dressed in won

298 MISS MACKENZIE.

derful habiliments. She wore a dark-blue bonnet, filled all
round with yellow flowers, and a spotted silk dress, of which
the prevailing colour was scarlet. She was going, she said,
to St. Mary-le- Strand, "to be made Mrs. Buggins of." She
tried to carry it off with bravado when she entered the
room, but she left it with a tear in her eye, and a whimper
in her throat. " To be sure, I'm an old woman," she said
before she went. " Who has said that I ain't ? Not I ; nor
yet Buggins. "We is both of us old. But 1 don't know
why we is to be desolate and lonely all our days, because
we ain't young. It seems to me that the young folks
is to have it all to themselves, and I'm sure I don't know
why." Then she went, clearly resolved, that as far as she
was concerned, the young people shouldn't have it all to
themselves ; and as Buggins was of the same way of
thinking, they were married at St. Mary-le- Strand that
rery morning.

And this marriage would have been of no moment to us
or to our little history, had not Mr. Maguire chosen that
morning, of all mornings in the year, to call on Miss Mac-
kenzie in Arundel Street. He had obtained her address, —
of course, from Miss Colza ; and, not having been idle the
while in pushing his inquiries respecting Miss Mackenzie's
affairs, had now come to Arundel Street to carry on the
battle as best he might. Margaret was still in her room as
he came, and as the girl could not show the gentleman
up there, she took him into an empty parlour, and brought
the tidings up to the lodger. Mr. Maguire had not sent up
his name ; but a personal description by the girl at once
made Margaret know who was there.

" I won't see him," said she, with heightened colour,
grieving greatly that the strong-minded Hannah Protheroe,
— or, Buggins, as it might probably be by that time, — was
not at home. " Martha, don't let him come up. Tell him
to go away at once."

After some persuasion, the girl went down with the
message, which she softened to suit her own idea of
propriety. But she returned, saying that the gentle-
man was very urgent. He insisted that he must see
Miss Mackenzie, if only for an instant, before he left the
house.

THE LODGINGS OF MRS. BUGGINS. 299

" Tell him," said Margaret, " that nothing shall in-
duce me to see him. I'll send for a policeman. If
he won't go when he's told, Martha, you must go for a
policeman."

Martha, when she heard that, became frightened about
the spoons and coats, and ran down again in a hurry. Then
she came up again with a scrap of paper, on which a few
words had been written with a pencil. This was passed
through a very narrow opening in the door, as Margaret
stood with it guarded, fearing lest the enemy might carry
the point by an assault.

" You are being robbed," said the note, " you are, indeed ;
and my only wish is to protect you."

" Tell him that there is no answer, and that I will re-
ceive no more notes from him," said Margaret. Then,
at last, when he received that message, Mr. Maguire went
away.

About a week after that, another visitor came to Miss
Mackenzie, and him she received. But he was not the man
for whose coming she in truth longed. It was Mr. Samuel
Rubb who now called, and when Mrs. Buggins told her
lodger that he was in the parlour, she went down to see
him willingly. Her life was now more desolate than
it had been before the occurrence of that ceremony in the
church of St. Mary-le- Strand ; for, though she had much
respect for Mr. Buggins, of whose character she had heard
nothing that was not good, and though she had given
her consent as to the expediency of the Buggins' alliance,
she did not find herself qualified to associate with Mr.
Buggins.

" He won't say a word, Miss," Hannah had pleaded, " and
he'll run and fetch for you like a dog."

But even when recommended so highly for his social
qualities, Buggins, she felt, would be antipathetic to her ; and,
with many false assurances thak she did not think it right to
interrupt a newly-married couple, she confined herself on
those days to her own room.

But when Mr. B/ubb came, she went down to see him
How much Mr. Rubb knew of her affairs, — how far he
might be in Miss Colza's confidence, — she did not know;
but his conduct to her had not been offensive, and she had

300 MISS MACKENZIE.

been pleased when she learned that the first half year's in-
terest had been paid to her sister-in-law.

" I'm sorry to hear of all this, Miss Mackenzie," said he,
when he came forward to greet her. He had not thought
it necessary, on this occasion, to put on his yellow gloves or
his shiny boots, and she liked him the better on that
account.

" Of all what, Mr. Rubb ? " said she.

" Why, about you and the family at the Cedars. If what
I hear is true, they've just got you to give up everything,
and then dropped you."

u I left Sir John Ball's house on my own account, Mr.
Eubb ; I was not turned out."

" I don't suppose they'd do that. They wouldn't dare to
do that ; not so soon after getting hold of your money. Miss
Mackenzie, I hope I shall not anger you ; but ifc seems to
me to be the most horridly wicked piece of business I ever
heard of."

" You are mistaken, Mr. Rubb. You forget that the thing
was first found out by my own lawyer."

"I don't know how that may be, but I can't bring
myself to believe that it all is as they say it is ; I can't,
indeed."

She merely smiled, and shook her head. Then he went on
speaking.

" I hope I'm not giving offence. It's not what I mean,
if I am."

" You are not giving any offence, Mr. Rubb ; only I
think you are mistaken about my relatives at Twickenham."

" Of course, I may be ; there's no doubt of that. I may
be mistaken, like another. But, Miss Mackenzie, by Heavens,
I can't bring myself to think it." As he spoke in this
energetic way, he rose from his chair, and stood opposite to
her. " I cannot bring myself to think that the fight should
be given up."

" But there has been no fight."

" There ought to be a fight, Miss Mackenzie ; I know that
there ought. I believe I'm right in supposing, if all this is
allowed to go by the board as it is going, that you won't
have, so to say, anything of your own."

" I shall have to earn my bread like other people ; and,

THE LODGINGS OF MRS, BUGGINS. 301

indeed, I am endeavouring now to put myself in the way of
doing so."

" I'll tell you how you shall earn it. Come and be
my wife. I think we've got a turn for good up at
the business. Come and be my wife. That's honest, any
way."

" You are honest," said she, with a tear in her eye.

" I am honest now," said he, " though I was not honest
to you once : " and I think there was a tear in his eye
also.

" If you mean about the money that you have borrowed,
I am very glad of it, — very glad of it. It will be something
for them in Gower Street."

" Miss Mackenzie, as long as I have a hand to help my-
self with, they shall have that at least. But now, about
this other thing. Whether there's nothing to come or any-
thing, I'll be true to my offer. I'll fight for it, if there's to
be a fight, and I'll let it go if there's to be no fight. But
whether one way or whether the other, there shall be a home
for you when you say the word. Say it now. Will you be
my wife ? "

" I cannot say that word, Mr. Rubb."

" And why not ? "

" I cannot say it ; indeed, I cannot."

" Is it Mr. Ball that prevents you ? "

" Do not ask me questions like that. Indeed, indeed, in-
deed, I cannot do as you ask me."

" You despise me, like enough, because I am only a trades-
man ? "

" What am I myself, that I should despise any man ?
No, Mr. Rubb, I am thankful and grateful to you ; but it
cannot be."

Then he took up his hat, and, turning away from
her without any word of adieu, made his way out of the
house.

" He really do seem a nice man, Miss," said Mrs. Buggins.
" I wonder you wouldn't have him liefer than go into one of
them hospitals."

Whether Miss Mackenzie had any remnant left of
another hope, or whether all such hope had gone, we need
not perhaps inquire accurately. Whatever might be the

302 MISS MACKENZIE.

state of her mind on that score, she was doing her best to
carry out her purpose with reference to the plan of nursing ;
and as she could not now apply to her cousin, she had written
to Mr. Slow upon the subject.

Late in November yet another gentleman came to see her,
but when he came she was unfortunately out. She had
gone up to the house in Gower Street, and had there been so
cross-questioned by the indefatigable Miss Colza that she
had felt herself compelled to tell her sister-in-law that she
could not again come there as long as Miss Colza was
one of the family. It was manifest to her that these ques-
tions had been put on behalf of Mr. Maguire, and she had
therefore felt more indignant than she would have been had
they orginated in the impertinent curiosity of the woman
herself. She also informed Mrs. Mackenzie that, in obedience
to instructions from Mr. Slow, she intended to postpone her
purpose with reference to the hospital till some time early
in the next year. Mr. Slow had sent a clerk to her to
explain that till that time such amicable arrangement as
that to which he looked forward to make could not be
completed. On her return from this visit to Gower Street
she found the card, — simply the card, — of her cousin, John
Ball.

Why had she gone out ? Why had she not remained a
fixture in the house, seeing that it had always been possible
that he should come ? But why ! oh, why ! had he treated
her in this way, leaving a card at her home, as though that
would comfort her in her grievous desolation ? It would
have been far better that he should have left there no inti-
mation of his coming. She took the card, and in her anger
threw it from her into the Cre.

But yet she waited for him to come again. Not once
during the next ten days, excepting on the Sunday, did she
go out of the house during the hours that her cousin
would be in London. Very sad and monotonous was her
life, passed alone in her own bedroom. And it was the
more sad, because Mrs. Buggins somewhat resented the
manner in which her husband was treated. Mrs. Buggins
was still attentive, but she made little speeches about Buggins'
respectability, and Margaret felt that her presence in the
house was an annoyance.

THE LODGING&-0F MKS. BUGGINS. 303

At last, at the end of the ten days, John Ball came
again, and Margaret, with a fluttering heart, descended to
meet him in the empty parlour.

She was the first to speak. As she had come down stairs,
she had made up her mind to tell him openly what were
her thoughts.

" I had hoped to have seen you before this, John," she said,
as she gave him her hand.

" I did call before. Did you not get my card ? "

" Oh, yes ; I got your card. But I had expected to see you
before that. The kind of life that I am leading here is very
sad, and cannot be long continued."

" I would have had you remain at the Cedars, Margaret ;
but you would not be counselled by me."

"No; not in that, John."

" I only mention it now to excuse myself. But you are
not to suppose that I am not anxious about you, because
I have not seen you. I have been with Mr. Slow con-
stantly. These law questions are always very tedious in
being settled."

" But I want nothing for myself."

" It behoves* Mr. Slow, for that very reason, to be the
raore anxious on your behalf ; and, if you will believe me,
Margaret, I am quite as anxious as he is. If you had re-
mained with us, I could have discussed the matter with you
from day to day ; but, of course, I cannot do so while you
are here."

As he was talking in this way, everything with reference
to their past intercourse came across her mind. She could
not tell him that she had been anxious to see him, not with
reference to the money, but that he might tell her that he
did not find her guilty on that charge which her aunt had
brought against her concerning Mr. Maguire. She did not
want assurances of solicitude as to her future means of
maintenance. She cared little or nothing about her future
maintenance, if she could not get from him one kind word
with reference to the past. But he went on talking to her
about Mr. Slow, and the interest, and the property, and the
law, till, at last, in her anger, she told him that she did not
care to hear further about it, till she should be told at last
what she was to do.

304 MI3S MACKENZIE.

" As I have got nothing of my own," she said, " I
want to be earning my bread, and I think that the delay
is cruel."

" And do you think," said he, " that the delay is not cruel
to me also ? "

She thought that he alluded to the fact that he could
not yet obtain possession of the income for his own pur-
poses.

" You may have it all at once, for me," she said.

" Have all what ? " he replied. " Margaret, I think you
fail to see the difficulties of my position. In the first place,
my father is on his death-bed ! "

" Oh, John, I am sorry for that."

" And, then, my mother is very bitter about all this. And
how can I, at such a time, tell her that her opinion is to go
for nothing ? I am bound to think of my own children, and
cannot abandon my claim to the property."

"No one wants you to abandon it. At least, I do
not."

" What am I to do, then ? This Mr. Maguire is making
charges against me."

"Oh, John!"

" He is saying that I am robbing you, and trying to cover
the robbery by marrying you. Both my own lawyer, and
Mr. Slow, have told me that a plain statement of the whole
case must be prepared, so that any one who cares to in-
quire may learn the whole truth, before I can venture to
do anything which might otherwise compromise my character.
You do not think of all this, Margaret, when you are angry
with me." Margaret, hanging down her head, confessed
that she had not thought of it.

" The difficulty would have been less, had you remained at
the Cedars."

Then she again lifted her head, and told him that that
would have been impossible. Let things go as they might
she knew that she had been right in leaving her aunt's
house.

There was not much more said between them, nor did he
give her any definite promise as to when he would see
her again. He told her that she might draw on Mr. Slow
for money if she wanted it, but that she again declined,

THE LODGINGS OP MRS. BUGGINS. 805

And he told her also not to withdraw Susanna Mackenzie
from her school at Littlebath, — at any rate, not for the
present ; and intimated also that Mr. Slow would pay the
schoolmistress's bill. Then he took his leave of her. He
had spoken no word of love to her ; but yet she felt, when
he was gone, that her case was not as hopless now as it had
seemed to be that morning.

306 HISS MACKENZIE.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE LITTLE STORY OP THE LION AND THE LAMB.

DURING those three months of October, November, and
December, Mr. Maguire was certainly not idle. He had,
by means of pertinacious inquiry, learned a good deal about
Miss Mackenzie ; indeed, he had learned most of the facts
which the reader knows, though not quite all of them. He had
seen Jonathan Ball's will, and he had seen Walter Mac-
kenzie's will. He had ascertained, through Miss Colza, that
John Ball now claimed the property by some deed said to
have been executed by Jonathan Ball previous to the execu-
tion of his will ; and he had also learned, from Miss Mac-
kenzie's own lips, in Lady Ball's presence, that she had en-
gaged herself to marry the man who was thus claiming
her property. Why should Mr. Ball want to marry her, —
who would in such a case be penniless, — but that he felt him-
self compelled in that way to quell all further inquiry
into the thing that he was doing ? And why should she
desire to marry him, but that in this way she might, as it
were, go with her own property, and not lose the value of it
herself when compelled to surrender it to her cousin ?
That she would have given herself, with all her property,
to him — Maguire — a few months ago, Mr. Maguire felt fully
convinced, and, as I have said before, had some ground for
such conviction. He had learned also from Miss Colza,
that Miss Mackenzie had certainly quarrelled with Lady
Ball, and that she had, so Miss Colza believed, been turned
out of the house at the Cedars. Whether Mr. Ball had
or had not abandoned his matrimonial prospects, Miflfl

THE STORY OP TfiE LION AND TfiE LAMB. 307

Colza 2ould not quite determine. Having made up her
mind to hate Miss Mackenzie, and therefore, as waa
natural, thinking that no gentleman could really like such
" a poor dowdy creature," she rather thought that he had
abandoned his matrimonial prospects. Mr. Maguire had
thus learned much on the subject ; but he had not learned
this, — that John Ball was honest throughout in the matter
and that the lawyers employed in it were honest also.

And now, having got together all this information, and ho
himself being in a somewhat precarious condition as to his
own affairs, Mr. Maguire resolved upon using his infor-
mation boldly. He had a not incorrect idea of the fitness
of things, and did not fail to tell himself that were he
at that moment in possession of those clerical advantages
ivhich his labours in the vineyard should have earned for
him, he would not have run the risk which he must un-
doubtedly incur by engaging himself in this matter. Had
he a full church at Littlebath depending on him, had Mr.
Stumfold's chance and Mr. Stumfold's success been his, had
he still even been an adherent of the Stumfoldian fold, he
would have paused before he rushed to the public with an
account of Miss Mackenzie's grievance. But as matters
stood with him, looking round upon his own horizon, he did
not see that he had any course before him more likely to
lead to good pecuniary results than this.

The reader has been told how Mr. Maguire went to
Arundel Street, and how he was there received. But that
reception did not at all daunt his courage. It showed him
that the lady was still under the Ball influence, and that his
ally, Miss Colza, was probably wrong in supposing that the
Ball marriage was altogether off. But this only made
him the more determined to undermine that influence, and
to prevent that marriage. If he could once succeed in con-
vincing the lady that her best chance of regaining her for-
tune lay in his assistance, or if he could even convince her
that his interference must result, either with or without
her good wishes, in dividing her altogether from the Ball
alliance, then she would be almost compelled to throw her-
self into his arms. That she was violently in love with
him he did not suppose, nor did he think it at all more probable
that she should be violently in love with her cousin. He
20—2

308 MISS MACKENZIE.

pat her down in his own mind as one of those weak, good
women, who can bring themselves easily to love any man,
and who are sure to make useful wives, because they under-
stand so thoroughly the nature of obedience. If he could
secure for her her fortune, and could divide her from John
Ball, he had but little doubt that she would come to him,
in spite of the manner in which she had refused to receive
him in Arundel Street. Having considered all this, after
the mode of thinking which I have attempted to describe,
he went to work with such weapons as were readiest to his
hands.

As a first step, he wrote boldly to John Ball. In this
letter he reasserted the statement he had made to Lady Ball
as to Miss Mackenzie's engagement to himself, and added
some circumstances which he had not mentioned to Lady
Ball. He said, that having become engaged to that lady,
he had; in consequence, given up his curacy at Littlebath,
and otherwise so disarranged his circumstances, as to
make it imperative upon him to take the steps which he
was now taking. He had come up to London, expecting to
find her anxious to receive him in Gower Street, and had
then discovered that she had been taken away to the Cedars.
He could not, he said, give any adequate description of his
surprise, when, on arriving there, he heard from the mouth
of his own Margaret that she was now engaged to her
cousin. But if his surprise then had been great and terrible,
how much greater and more terrible must it have been
when, step by step, the story of that claim upon her for-
tune revealed itself to him ! He pledged himself, in his
letter as a gentleman and as a Christian minister, to see
the matter out. He would not allow Miss Mackenzie to
be despoiled of her fortune and her hand, — both of wh^ph
he had a right to regard as his own, — without making
known to the public a transaction which he regarded as
nefarious. Then there was a good deal of eloquent indigna-
tion, the nature and purport of which the reader will pro-
bably understand.

Mr. Ball did not at all like this letter. He had that
strong feeling of disinclination to be brought before the
public with reference to his private affairs, which is com-
mon to all Englishmen • and he specially had a dislike to

THE STORY OP THE LION AND THE LAMB. 309

this, seeing that there would be a question not only as to
money, but also as to love. A gentleman does not like to
be accused of a dishonest attempt to possess himself of a
lady's property ; but, at the age of fifty, even that is almost
better than one which charges him with such attempt
against a lady's heart. He knew that he was not dishonest,
and therefore could endure the first. He was not quite sure
that he was not, or might not become, ridiculous, and there-
fore feared the latter very greatly. He could not ignore the
letter, and there was nothing for it but to show it to his
lawyer. Unfortunately, he had told this lawyer, on the
very day of Mr. Maguire's visit to the Cedars, that all was
to be made smooth by his marriage with Miss Mackenzie ;
and now, with much misery and many inward groanings, he
had to explain all this story of Mr. Maguire. It was the
more painful in that he had to admit that an offer had been
made to the lady by the clergyman, and had not been
rejected.

" You don't think there was more than that ? " asked the
lawyer, having paved the way for his question with sundry
apologetic flourishes.

"I am sure there was not," said John Ball. "She is as
true as the Gospel, and he is as false as the devil."

" Oh, yes," said the lawyer ; " there's no doubt about his
falsehood. He's one of those fellows for whom nothing is
too dirty. Clergymen are like women. As long as they're
pure, they're a long sight purer than other men ; but when
they fall, they sink deeper."

" You needn't be afraid of taking her word," said John
Ball. " If all women were as pure as she is, there wouldn't
be much amiss with them." His eyes glittered as he spoke
of her, and it was a pity that Margaret could not have
heard him then, and seen him there.

" You don't think she has been, — just a little foolish, you
know ? "

" I think she was very foolish in not bidding such a man
to go about his businsss at once. But she has not been
more so than what she owns. She is as brave as
she is good, and I don't think she would keep anything
back."

The result was that a letter was written by the lawyer to

310 MISS MACKENZIE.

Mr. Maguire, telling Mr. Maguire that any further com-
munication should be made to him ; and also making a slight
suggestion as to the pains and penalties which are incurred in
the matter of a libel. Mr. Maguire had dated his letter
from Littlebath, and there the answer reached him. He
had returned thither, having found that he could take no
further immediate steps towards furthering his cause in
London.

And now, what steps should he take next ? More than
once he thought of putting his own case into the hands of
a lawyer ; but what was a lawyer to do for him ? An
action for breach of promise was open to him, but he had
wit enough to feel that there was very little chance of success
for him in that line. He might instruct a lawyer to look
into Miss Mackenzie's affairs, and he thought it probable
that he might find a lawyer to take such instructions. But
there would be much expense in this, and, probably, no
result. Advancing logically from one conclusion to another,
he at last resolved that he must rush boldly into print, and
lay the whole iniquity of the transaction open to the public.

He believed, — I think he did believe, — that the woman
was being wronged. Some particle of such belief he had,
and fostering himself with this, he sat himself down, and
wrote a leading article.

Now there existed in Littlebath at this time a weekly
periodical called the Christian Examiner, with which Mr.
Maguire had for some time had dealings. He had written
for the paper, taken an earnest part in local religious
subjects ; and the paper, in return, had very frequently
spoken highly of Mr. Maguire's eloquence, and of Mr.
Maguire's energy. There had been a give and take in this,
which all people understand who are conversant with the
provincial, or perhaps I might add, with the metropolitan
press of the country. The paper in question was not a
wicked paper, nor were the gentlemen concerned in its
publication intentionally scurrilous or malignant ; but it was
subject to those great temptations which beset all class
newspapers of the kind, and to avoid which seems to be
almost more difficult, in handling religious subjects, than in
handling any other. The editor of a Christian Examiner, if,
as is probable, he have, of his own, very strong and one-

THE STORY OP THE LION AND THE LAMB. 311

sided religious convictions, will think that those who
differ from him are in a perilous way, and so thinking,
will feel himself bound to tell them so. The man who
advocates one line of railway instead of another, or one
prime minister as being superior to all others, does not
regard his opponents as being fatally wrong, — wrong for
this world and for the next, — and he can restrain himself
But how is a newspaper writer to restrain himself when
his opponent is incurring everlasting punishment, or, worse
still, carrying away others to a similar doom, in that they
read, and perhaps even purchase, that which the lost one
has written ? In this way the contests of religious news-
papers are apt to be personal ; and heavy, biting,,
scorching attacks, become the natural vehicle of Christian
Examiners.

Mr. Maguire sat down and wrote his leading article,
which on the following Saturday appeared in all the
glory of large type. The article shall not be repeated here
at length, because it contained sundry quotations from Holy
Writ which may as well be omitted, but the purport of
it shall be explained. It commenced with a dissertation
against an undue love of wealth — the auri sacra fames, as
the writer called it ; and described with powerful unction
the terrible straits into which, when indulged, it led the
vile, wicked, ugly, hideous, loathsome, devilish human
neart. Then there was an eloquent passage referring to
worms and dust and grass, and a quotation respecting
treasures both corruptible and incorruptible. Not at once,
but with crafty gradations, the author sloped away to the
point of his subject. How fearful was it to watch the way
in which the strong, wicked ones, — the roaring lions of tho
earth, beguiled the ignorance of the innocent, and led lonely
lambs into their slaughter-houses. All this, much amplified,
made up half the article ; and then, after the manner of a
pleasant relater of anecdotes, the clerical story-teller began
his little tale. When, however, he came to the absolute
writing of the tale, he found it to be prudent for the present
to omit the names of his hero and heroine, — to omit, indeed,
the names of all the persons concerned. He had first
intended boldly to dare it all, and perhaps would yet have
done so had he been quite sure of his editor. But hia

312 MISS MACKENZIE.

editor he found might object to these direct personalities at
the first sound of the trumpet, unless the communication
were made in the guise of a letter, with Mr. Maguire's
name at the end of it. After a while the editor might
become hot in the fight himself, and then the names could
be blazoned forth. And there existed some chance, — some
small chance, — that the robber-lion, John Ball, might be
induced to drop his lamb from his mouth when he heard
this premonitory blast, and then the lion's prey might be
picked up by — " the bold hunter," Mr. Maguire would
probably have said, had he been called upon to finish the
sentence himself ; anyone else might, perhaps, say, by the
jackal. The little story was told, therefore, without the
mention of any names. Mr. Maguire had read other little
stories told in another way in other newspapers, of greater
weight, no doubt, than the Littlebath Christian Examiner,
and had thought that he could wield a thunderbolt as well
as any other Jupiter ; but in wielding thunderbolts, as in all
other operations of skill, a man must first try his 'prentice
hand with some reticence ; and thus he reconciled himself to
prudence, not without some pangs of conscience which
accused him inwardly of cowardice.

" Not long ago there was a lady in this town, loved and
respected by all who knew her." Thus he began, and then
gave a not altogether inaccurate statement of the whole
affair, dropping, of course, his own share in the concern, and
accusing the vile, wicked, hideous, loathsome human heart
of the devouring lion, who lived some miles to the west end
of London, of a brutal desire and a hellish scheme to swallow
up the inheritance of the innocent, loved, and respected
lamb, in spite of the closest ties of consanguinity between
them. And then he went on to tell how, with a base desire
of covering up from the eyes of an indignant public his bestial
greediness in having made this dishonest meal, the lion had
proposed to himself the plan of marrying the lamb ! It
was a pity that Maguire had not learned, — that Miss Colza
had not been able to tell him, — that the lion had once
before expressed his wish to take the lamb for his wife. Had
he known that, what a picture he would have drawn of the
disappointed vindictive king of the forest, as lying in his
lair at Twickenham he meditated his foul revenge ! This

THE STORY OP THE LION AND THE LAMB. 313

•nfortunately was unknown to Mr. Maguire and unsuspected
by him.

But the article did not end here. The indignant writer of
it want on to say that he had buckled on his armour in
support of the lamb, and that he was ready to meet the lion
either in the forest or in any social circle ; either in the courts
of law or before any Christian arbitrator. With loud trumpet,
ings, he summoned the lion to appear and plead guilty, or to
stand forward, if he dared, and declare himself innocent with
his hand on his heart. If the lion could prove himself to be
innocent the writer of that article offered him the right
hand of fellowship, an offer which the lion would not,
perhaps, regard as any strong inducement ; but if the lion
were not innocent, — if, as the writer of that article was
well aware was the case, the lion was basely, greedily,
bestially guilty, then the writer of that article pledged
himself to give the Jion no peace till he had disgorged his
prey, and till the lamb was free to come back, with all her
property, to that Christian circle in Littlebath which had
loved her so warmly and respected her so thoroughly.

Such was the nature of the article, and the editor put it
in. After all, what, in such matters, is an editor to do ? Is
it not his business to sell his paper ? And if the editor of a
Christian Examiner cannot trust the clergyman he has sat
under, whom can he trust ? Some risk an editor is obliged
to run, or he will never sell his paper. There could be little
doubt that such an article as this would be popular among
the religious world of Littlebath, and that it would create a
demand. He had his misgivings, — had that poor editor.
He did not feel quite sure of his lion and his lamb. He
talked the matter over vehemently with Mr. Maguire in the
little room in which he occupied himself with his scissors
and his paste ; but ultimately the article was inserted.

T7ho does* not know that interval of triumph which
warms a man's heart when he has delivered his blow, and
the return blow has not been yet received ? The blow has
been so well struck that it must be successful, nay, may
probably be death-dealing. So felt Mr. Maguire when two
dozen copies of the Christian Examiner were delivered at his
lodgings on the Saturday morning. The article, though
printed as a leading article, had been headed as a little story

314 MISS MACKENZIE.

—"The Lion and the Lamb," — so that it might more
readily attract attention. It read very nicely in print. It
had all that religious unction which is so necessary for
Christian Examiners, and with it that spice of devilry, so
delicious to humanity that without it even Christian
Examiners cannot be made to sell themselves. He was
very busy with his two dozen damp copies before him, — two
dozen which had been sent to him, by agreement, as the
price of his workmanship. He made them up and directed
them with his own hand. To the lion and the lamb he sent
two copies, two to each. To Mr. Slow he sent a copy, and
another to Messrs. Slow and Bidea while, and a third to the
other lawyer. He sent a copy to Lady Ball and one to Sir
John. Another he sent to the old Mackenzie, baronet at
Incharrow, and two more to the baronet's eldest son,
and the baronet's eldest son's wife. A copy he sent
to Mrs. Tom Mackenzie, and a copy to Miss Colza ;
and a copy also he sent to Mrs. Buggins. And he sent
a copy to the Chairman of the Board at the Shadrach
Fire Office, and another to the Chairman at the Abednego
Life Office. A copy he sent to Mr. Samuel Rubb, junior,
and a copy to Messrs. Bubb and Mackenzie. Out of his own
pocket he supplied the postage stamps, and with his own
hand he dropped the papers into the Littlebath post-office.

Poor Miss Mackenzie, when she read the article, was
stricken almost to the ground. How she did hate the man
whose handwriting on the address she recognised at once !
What should she do ? In her agony she almost resolved
that she would start at once for the Cedars and profess her
willingness to go before all the magistrates in London and
Littlebath, and swear that her cousin was no lion and that
she was no lamb. At that moment her feelings towards the
Christians and Christian Examiners of Littlebath were not
the feelings of a Griselda. I think she could have spoken
her mind freely had Mr. Maguire come in her way. Then,
when she saw Mrs. Buggins's copy, her anger blazed up
afresh, and her agony became more intense. The horrid
man must have sent copies all over the world, or he would
never have thought of sending a copy to Mrs. Buggins !

But she did not go to the Cedars. She reflected that
when there she might probably find her cousin absent, and ir

THE STORY OF THE LION AND THE LAMB. 315

such case she would hardly know how to address herself to her
aunt. Mr. Ball, too, might perhaps come to her, and for
three days she patiently awaited his coming. On the even-
ing of the third day there came to her, not Mr. Ball, but a
clerk from Mr. Slow, the same clerk who had been with her
before, and he made an appointment with her at Mr. Slow's
office on the following morning. She was to meet Mr. Ball
there, and also to meet Mr. Ball's lawyer. Of course she
consented to go, and of course she was on Mr. Slow's stair-
case exactly at the time appointed. Of what she was think-
ing as she walked round Lincoln's Inn Melds to kill a
quarter of an hour which she found herself to have on hand,
we will not now inquire.

She was shown at once into Mr. Slow's room, and the
first thing that met her eyes was a copy of that horrible
Christian Examiner, lying on the table before him. She
knew it instantly, and would have known it had she simply
seen a corner of the printing. To her eyes and to her mind,
no other printed paper had ever been so ugly and so
vicious. But she saw that there was also another newspaper
under the Christian Examiner. Mr. Slow brought her to
the fire, and gave her a chair, and was very courteous. In
a few moments came the other lawyer, and with him came
John Ball.

Mr. Slow opened the conference, all the details of which
need not be given here. He first asked Miss Mackenzie
whether she had seen that wicked libel. She, with much
energy and, I may almost say, with virulence, declared that
the horrid paper had been sent to ^er. She hoped that
nobody suspected that she had known anything about it.
In answer to this, they all assured her that she need not
trouble herself on that head. Mr. Slow then told her that a
London paper had copied the whole story of the " Lion and
the Lamb," expressing a hope that the lion would be
exposed if there was any truth in it, and the writer would
be exposed if there was none.

"The writer was Mr. Maguire, a clergyman," said Miss
Mackenzie, with indignation.

"We all know that," said Mr. Slow, with a slight smile
on his face. Then he went on reading the remarks of the
London paper, which declared that the Littlebath Christian

316 MISS MACKENZIE.

Examiner, having gone so far, must, of necessity, go further.
The article was calculated to give the greatest pain to, no
doubt, many persons ; and the innocence or guilt of " the
Lion," as poor John Ball was called, must be made
manifest to the public.

" And now, my dear Miss Mackenzie, I will tell you what
we propose to do," said Mr. Slow. 'He then explained that
it was absolutely necessary that a question of law should ba
tried and settled in a court of law, between her and her
cousin. When she protested against this, he endeavoured
to explain to her that the cause would be an amicable cause,
a simple reference, in short, to a legal tribunal. Of course,
she did not understand this, and, of course, she still pro-
tested ; but after a while, when she began to perceive that
her protest was of no avail, she let that matter drop. The
cause should be brought on as soon as possible, but could
not be decided till late in the spring. She was told that she
had better make no great change in her own manner of life
till that time, and was again informed that she could have
what money she wanted for her own maintenance. She
refused to take any money ; but when the reference was
made to some proposed change in her life, she looked
wistfully into her cousin's face. He, however, had nothing
to say then, and kept his eyes intently fixed upon the carpet.

Mr. Slow then took up the Christian Examiner, and
declared to her what was their intention with reference to
that. A letter should be written from his house to the
editor of the London newspaper, giving a plain statement of
the case, with all the names, explaining that all the parties
were acting in perfect concert, and that the matter was to
be decided in the only way which could be regarded as
satisfactory. In answer to this, Miss Mackenzie, almost in
tears, pointed out how distressing would be the publicity
thus given to her name " particularly," — she said,

"particularly ." But she could not go on with the

expression of her thoughts, or explain that so public a
reference to a proposal of marriage from her cousin must be
doubly painful to her, seeing that the idea of such a
marriage had been abandoned. But Mr. Slow understood
all this, and, coming over to her, took her gently by the
hand.

THE STORY OF THE LION AND THE LAMB. 317

" My dear," he said, " you may trust me in this as though
I were your father. I know that such publicity is painful ;
but, believe me, it is the best that we can do."

Of course she had no alternative but to yield.

When the interview was over, her cousin walked home
with her to Arundel Street, and said much to her as to the
necessity for this trial. He said so much, that she, at last,
dimly understood that the matter could not be set at rest by
her simple renouncing of the property. Her own lawyer
could not allow her to do so ; nor could he, John Ball,
consent to receive the property in such a manner. " You
Bee, by that newspaper, what people would say of me."

But had he not the power of making everything easy by
doing that which he himself had before proposed to do ?
Why did he not again say, "Margaret, come and be my
wife ? " She acknowledged to herself that he had a right
to act as though he had never said those words — that the
facts elicited by Mr. Maguire's visit to the Cedars were
sufficient to absolve him from his offer. But yet she
thought that they should have been sufficient also to induce
him to renew it.

On that occasion, when he left her at the door in Arundel
Street, he had not renewed his offer.

318 MISS MACKENZIE

CHAPTER XXV.

LADY BALL IN ARUNDEL STREET,

ON Christmas-day Miss Mackenzie was pressed very hard
to eat her Christinas dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Bug-gins,
and she almost gave way. She had some half-formed idea
in her head that should she once sit down to table with
Buggins, she would have given up the fight altogether.
She had no objection to Buggins, and had, indeed, no strong
objection to put herself on a par with Buggins ; but she
felt that she could not be on a par with Buggins and with
John Ball at the same time. Why it should be that in
associating with the man she would take a step
downwards, and might yet associate with the man's
wife without taking any step downwards, she did not
attempt to explain to herself. But I think that she could
have explained it had she put herself to the task of
analysing the question, and that she felt exactly the result of
such analysis without making it. At any rate, she refused
the invitation persistently, and ate her wretched dinner
alone in her bedroom.

She had often told herself, in those days of her philosophy
at Littlebath, that she did not care to be a lady ; and she
told herself now the same thing very often when she was
thinking of the hospital. She cosseted herself with no false
ideas as to the nature of the work which she proposed to
undertake. She knew very well that she might have to
keep rougher company than that of Buggins if she put her
shoulder to that wheel. She was willing enough to do this,
and had been willing to encounter such company ever since

LADY BALL IN ARUNDEL STREET. 3l9

she left the Cedars. She was prepared for the roughness.
But she would not put herself beyond the pale, as it were, of
her cousin's hearth, moved simply by a temptation to relieve
the monotony of her life. When the work came within her
reach she would go to it, but till then she would bear the
wretchedness of her dull room up stairs. She wondered
whether he ever thought how wretched she must be in her
solitude.

On New Year's-day she heard that her uncle was dead.
She was already in mourning for her brother, and was
therefore called upon to make no change in that respect.
She wrote a note of condolence to her aunt, in which she
strove much, and vainly, to be cautious and sympathetic at
the same time, and in return received a note, in which Lady
Ball declared her purpose of coming to Arundel Street to
see her niece as soon as she found herself able to leave the
house. She would, she said, give Margaret warning the day
beforehand, as it would be very sad if she had her journey
all for nothing.

Her aunt, Lady Ball, was coming to see her in Arundel
Street ! What could be the purpose of such a visit after all
that had passed between them ? And why should her aunt
trouble herself to make it at a period of such great distress ?
Lady Ball must have some very important plan to propose,
and poor Margaret's heart was in a flutter. It was ten
days after this before the second promised note arrived, and
then Margaret was asked to say whether she would be at
home and able to receive her aunt's visit at ten minutes
past two on the day but one following. Margaret wrote
back to say that she would be at home at ten minutes past
two on the day named.

Her aunt was old, and she again borrowed the parlour,
though she was not now well inclined to ask favours from
Mrs. Buggins. Mrs. Buggins had taken to heart the slight
put upon her husband, and sometimes made nasty little
speeches.

" Oh dear, yes, in course, Miss Margaret ; not that I ever
did think much of them Ballses, and less than ever now,
since the gentleman was kind enough to send me the
newspaper. But she's welcome to the room, seeing as how
Mr. Tiddy will be in the city, of course j and you're welcome

320 MISS MACKENZIE.

to it, too, though you do keep yourself so close to yourself,
which won't ever bring you round to have your money
again ; that it won't."

Lady Ball came and was shown into the parlour, and her
niece went down to receive her.

" I would have been here before you came, aunt, only the
room is not mine."

In answer to this, Lady Ball said that it did very well. Any
room would answer the present purpose. Then she sat
down on the sofa from which she had risen. She was
dressed, of course, in the full weeds of her widowhood, and
the wide extent of her black crape was almost awful in
Margaret's eyes. She did not look to be so savage as her
niece had sometimes seen her, but there was about her a
ponderous accumulation of crape, which made her even more
formidable than she used to be. It would be almost
impossible to refuse anything to a person so black, so grave,
so heavy, and so big.

" I have come to you, my dear," she said, " as soon as I
possibly could after the sad event which we have had afc
home."

In answer to this, Margaret said that she was much
obliged, but she hoped that her aunt had put herself to no
trouble. Then she said a word or two about her uncle, — a
word or two that was very difficult, as of course it could
mean nothing.

"Yes," said the widow, "he has been taken from us after
a long and useful life. I hope his son will always show
himself to be worthy of such a father."

After that there was silence in the room for a minute or
two, during which Margaret waited for her aunt to begin ;
but Lady Ball sat there solid, grave, and black, as though
she thought that her very presence, without any words,
might be effective upon Margaret as a preliminary mode of
attack. Margaret herself could find nothing to say to her
aunt, and she, therefore, also remained silent. Lady Ball
was so far successful in this, that when three minutes were
over her niece had certainly been weakened by the
oppressive nature of the meeting. She had about her lese
of vivacity, and perhaps also less of vitality, than when she
first entered the room.

LADY BALL IN ARUNDEL STREET. 321

" Well, my dear," said her aunt at last, " there are things,
you know, which must be talked about, though they are
ever so disagreeable ; " and then she pulled out of her pocket
that abominable number of the Littlebath Christian
Examiner.

"Oh, aunt, I hope you are not going to talk about
that."

"My dear, that is cowardly ; it is, indeed. How am I to
help talking about it ? I have come here, from Twicken-
ham, on purpose to talk about it."

" Then, aunt, I must decline ; I must, indeed."

" My dear ! "

"I must, indeed, aunt."

Let a man or a woman's vitality be ever so thoroughly
crushed and quenched by fatigue or oppression, — or even
by black crape, — there will always be some mode of
galvanising which will restore it for a time, some specific
either of joy or torture which will produce a return of
temporary energy. This Littlebath newspaper was a
battery of sufficient power to put Margaret on her legs
again, though she perhaps might not be long able to keep
them.

" It is a vile, lying paper, and it was written by a vile,
lying man, and I hope you will put it up and say nothing
about it."

" It is a vile, lying paper, Margaret ; but the lies are
against my son, and not against you."

" He is a man, and knows what he is about, and it does
not signify to him. But, aunt, I won't talk about it, and
there's an end of it."

" I hope he does know what he is about," said Lady Ball.
" I hope he does. But you, as you say, are a woman, and
therefore it specially behoves you to know what you are
about."

"I am not doing anything to anybody," said Mar-
garet.

Lady Ball had now refolded the offensive newspaper,
and restored it to her pocket. Perhaps she had done
as much with it as she had from the first intended. At
any rate, she brought it forth no more, and made no
further intentionally direct allusion to it. " I don't
21

322 MISS MACKENZIE.

suppose you really wish to do any injury to anybody," she
said.

" Does anybody accuse me of doing them an injury ? "
Margaret asked.

"Well, my dear, if I were to say that I accused you,
perhaps you would misunderstand me. I hope, — I
thoroughly expect, that before I leave you, I may be able
to say that I do not accuse you. If you will only listen to
me patiently for a few minutes, Margaret, — which I couldn't
get you to do, you know, before you went away from the
Cedars in that very extraordinary manner, — I think I can

explain to you something which ." Here Lady Ball

became embarrassed, and paused ; but Margaret gave he*
no assistance, and therefore she began a new sentence.
" In point of fact, I want you to listen to what I say, and
then, I think, — I do think, — you will do as we would have
you."

Whom did she include in that word " we ? " Margaret
had still sufficient vitality not to let the word pass by
unquestioned.

" You mean yourself and John ? " said she.

" I mean the family," said Lady Ball rather sharply. " I
mean the whole family, including those dear girls to whom I
have been in the position of a mother since my son's wife died.
It is in the name of the Ball family that I now speak, and
surely I have a right."

Margaret thought that Lady Ball had no such right, but
she would not say so at that moment.

" Well, Margaret, to come to the point at once, the fact is
this. You must renounce any idea that you may still have
of becoming my son's wife." Then she paused.

" Has John sent you here to say this ? " demanded
Margaret.

" I don't wish you to ask any such question as that. If
you had any real regard for him I don't think you would
ask it. Consider his difficulties, and consider the position of
those poor children ! If he were your brother, would you
advise him, at his age, to marry a woman without a
farthing, and also to incur the certain disgrace which would
attach to his name after — after — after all that has been
said about it in this newspaper ? " — then, Lady Ball put

LADY BALL IN ARUNDEL STREET. 323

her hand upon her pocket ; — " in this newspaper, and in
others ? "

This was more than Margaret could bear. " There would
be no disgrace," said she, jumping to her feet.

" Margaret, if you put yourself into a passion, how can
you understand reason ? You ought to know, yourself, by
the very fact of your being in a passion, that you are wrong.
Would there be no disgrace, after all that has come out
about Mr. Maguire ? "

" No, none, — none ! " almost shouted this modern Griselc'a.
" There could be no disgrace. I won't admit it. As for 'his
marrying me, I don't expect it. There is nothing to 'bind
him to me. If he doesn't come to me I certainly shrjl not

fo to him. I have looked upon it as all over between
im and me ; and as I have not troubled him with any
importunities, nor yet you, it is cruel in you to come to
me in this way. He is free to do what he likes ; —
why don't you go to him? But there would be no
disgrace."

" Of course he is free. Of course such a marriage never can
take place now. It is quite out of the question. You say
that it is all over, and you are quite right. Why not let
this be settled in a friendly way between you and me, so
that we might be friends again ? I should be so glad to
help you in your difficulties if you would agree with me
about this."

"I want no help."

"Margaret, that is nonsense. In your position you are
very wrong to set your natural friends at defiance. If you
will only authorise me to say that you renounce this
marriage "

"I will not renounce it," said Margaret, who was still
standing up. " I will not renounce it. I would sooner lose
my tongue than let it say such a word. You may tell him, if
you choose to tell him anything, that I demand nothing
from him ; nothing. All that I once thought mine is now
his, and I demand nothing from him. But when he asked
me to be his wife he told me to be firm, and in that I will
obey him. He may renounce me, and I shall have nothing
with which to reproach him ; but I will never renounce him,
And then the modern Griselda, who had been
21—2

Miss MACKENZIE. '

thus galvanised into vitality, stood over her aunt in a mood
that was almost triumphant.

"Margaret, I am astonished at you," said Lady Ball,
when she had recovered herself.

"I can't help that, aunt."

" And now let me tell you this. My son is, of course, old
enough to do as he pleases. If he chooses to ruin himself
and his children by marrying, anybody — even if it were out
of the streets, — I can't help it. Stop a moment and hear
me to the end." This she said, as her niece had made a
movement as though towards the door. " I say, even if it
were out of the streets, I couldn't help it. But nothing
shall induce me to live in the same house with him if he
marries you. It will be on your conscience for ever that
you have brought ruin on the whole family, and that will be
your punishment. As for me, I shall take myself off to
some solitude, and — there — I — shall — die." Then Lady
Ball put her handkerchief up to her face and wept
copiously.

Margaret stood still, leaning upon the table, but she
spoke no word, either in answer to the threat or to the
tears. Her immediate object was to take herself out of the
room, but this she did not know how to achieve. At last
her aunt spoke again : "If you please, I will get you to ask
your landlady to send for a cab." Then the cab was pro-
cured, and Buggins, who had come home for his dinner,
handed her ladyship in. Not a word had been spoken
during the time that the cab was being fetched, and when
Lady Ball went down the passage, she merely said, " I wish
you good-bye, Margaret."

" Good-bye," said Margaret, and then she escaped to her
own bedroom.

Lady Ball had not done her work well. It was not
within her power to induce Margaret to renounce her
engagement, and had she known her niece better, I do not
think that she would have made the attempt. She did succeed
in learning* that Margaret had received no renewal of an
offer from her son, — that there was, in fact, no positive
engagement now existing between them ; and with this, I
think, she should have been satisfied. Margaret had declared
that she demanded nothing from her cousin^, and with this

LADY BALL IN ABUNDEL STREET. 325

assurance Lady Ball should have been contented. But she had
thought to cany her point, to obtain the full swing of her
will, by means of a threat, and had forgotten that in the
very words of her own menace she conveyed to Margaret
some intimation that her son was still desirous of doing
that very thing which she was so anxious to prevent.
There was no chance that her threat should have any effect
on Margaret. She ought to have known that the tone of
the woman's mind was much too firm for that. Margaret
knew, — was as sure of it as any woman could be sure, — that
her cousin was bound to her by all ties of honour. She
believed, too, that he was bound to her by love, and that if
he should finally desert it, he would be moved to do so by
mean motives. It was no anger on the score of Mr.
Maguire that would bring him to such a course, no sus-
picion that she was personally unworthy of being his wife.
Our Griselda, with all her power of suffering and willing-
ness to suffer, understood all that, and was by no means
disposed to give way to any threat from Lady Ball.

When she was up stairs, and once more in solitude,
she disgraced herself again by crying. She could be
strong enough when attacked by others, but could not be
strong when alone. She cried and sobbed upon her bed,
and then, rising, looked at herself in the glass, and told
herself that she was old and ugly, and fitted only for
that hospital nursing of which she had been thinking.
But still there was something about her heart that bore
her up. Lady Ball would not have come to her, would
not have exercised her eloquence upon her, would not
have called upon her to renounce this engagement, had
she not found all similar attempts upon her own son to
be ineffectual. Could it then be so, that, after all, her
cousin would be true to her ? If it were so, if it could
be so, what would she not do for him and for his children ?
If it were so, how blessed would have been all these
troubles that had brought her to such a haven at last !
Then she tried to reconcile his coldness to her with that
which she so longed* to believe might be the fact. She
was not to expect him to be a lover such as are young
men. Was she young herself, or would she like him
better if he were to assume anything of youth in his

32 G MISS MACKENZIE

manners ? She understood that life with him was a
serious thing", and that it was his duty to be serious and
grave in what he did. It might be that it was essential
to his character, after all that had passed, that the question
of the property should be settled finally, before he could
come to her, and declare his wishes. Thus nattering her-
self, she put away from her her tears, and dressed herself,
smoothing her hair, and washing away the traces of her
weeping ; and then again she looked at herself in the
glass to see if it were possible that she might be comely
in his eyes.

The months of January and February slowly wore them-
selves away, and during the whole of that time Margaret
saw her cousin but once, and then she met him at Mr. Slow's
chambers. She had gone there to sign some document, and
there she had found him. She had then been told that she
would certainly lose her cause. No one who had looked
into the matter had any doubt of that. It certainly was
the case that Jonathan Ball had bequeathed property which
was not his at the time he made the will, but which,
at the time of his death, in fact, absolutely belonged
to his nephew, John Ball. Old Mr. Slow, as he explained
this now for the seventh or eighth time, did it without
a tone of regret in his voice, or a sign of sorrow in
his eye. Margaret had become so used to the story now,
that it excited no strong feelings within her. Her wish, she
said, was, that the matter should be settled. The lawyer,
with almost a smile on his face, but still shaking his head,
said that he feared it could not be settled before the end of
April. John Ball sat by, leaning his face, as usual, upon his
umbrella, and saying nothing. It did, for a moment, strike
Miss Mackenzie as singular, that she should be reduced from
affluence to absolute nothingness in the way of property, in
so very placid a manner. Mr. Slow seemed to be thinking
that he was, upon the whole, doing rather well for his client.

" Of course you understand, Miss Mackenzie, that you
can have any money you require for your present personal
wants."

This had been said to her so often, that she took it as
one of Mr. Slow's legal formulas, which meant nothing to
the laity.

LADY BALL IN AKUNDEL STREET. 32?

On that occasion also Mr. Ball walked home with her,
and was very eloquent about the law's delays. He also
seemed to speak as though there was nothing to be regretted
by anybody, except the fact that he could not get possession
of the property as quick as he wished. He said not a Word
of anything else, and Margaret, of course, submitted to be
talked to by him rather than to talk herself. Of Lady
Ball's visit he said not a word, nor did she. She asked
after the children, and especially after Jack. One word she
did say :

" I had hoped Jack would have come to see me at my
lodgings."

"Perhaps he had better not," said Jack's father, "till all
is settled. We have had much to trouble us at home sinon
my father's death."

Then of course she dropped that subject. She had beon
greatly startled on that day on hearing her cousin called
Sir John by Mr. Slow. Up to that moment it had never
occurred to her that the man of whom she was so constantly
thinking as her possible husband was a baronet. To have
been Mrs. Ball seemed to her to have been possible ; but
that she should become Lady Ball was hardly possible. She
wished that he had not been called Sir John. It seemed to
her to be almost natural that people should be convinced of
the impropriety of such a one as her becoming the wife of a
baronet.

During this period she saw her sister-in-law once 01*
twice, who on those occasions caine down to Arundel Street.
She herself would not go to Gower Street, because of the
presence of Miss Colza. Miss Colza still continued to live
there, and still continued very much in arrear in her con.
tributions to the household fund. Mrs. Mackenzie did not
turn her out, because she would, — so she said, — in such case
get nothing. Mrs. Tom was by this time quite convinced
that the property would, either justly or unjustly, go into
the hands of John Ball, and she was therefore less anxious
to make any sacrifice to please her sister-in-law.

" I'm sure I don't see why you should be so bitter ogainst
her," said Mrs. Tom. " I don't suppose she told the clergy-
man a word that wasn't true."

Mke Mackenzie declined to discuss the subject, and

328 MISS MACKENZIE.

assured Mrs. Tom that she only recommended the banishment
of Miss Colza because of her apparent unwillingness to pay.

" As for the money," said Mrs. Tom, " I expect Mr. Rubb
to see to that. I suppose he intends to make her Mrs. Rubb
sooner or later."

Miss Mackenzie, having some kindly feeling towards Mr.
Rubb, would have preferred to hear that Miss Colza was
likely to become Mrs. Maguire. During these visits, Mrs.
Tom got more than one five-pound note from her sister-in-
law, pleading the difficulty she had in procuring breakfast
for lodgers without any money for the baker. Margaret
protested against these encroachments, but, still, the money
would be forthcoming.

Once, towards the end of February, Mrs. Buggins seduced
her lodger down into her parlour in the area, and Miss
Mackenzie thought she perceived that something of the old
servant's manners had returned to her. She was more
respectful than she had been of late, and made no attempts
at smart, ill-natured speeches.

" It's a weary life, Miss, this you're living here, isn't it ? "
said she.

Margaret said that it was weary, but that there could be
no change till the lawsuit should be settled. It would be
settled, she hoped, in April.

" Bother it for a lawsuit," said Mrs. Buggins. " They all
tells me that it ain't any lawsuit at all, really."

" It's an amicable lawsuit," said Miss Mackenzie.

" I never see such amicableness ! 'Tis a wonder to hear,
Miss, how everybody is talking about it everywheres.
Where we was last night, — that is, Buggins and I, — most
respectable people in the copying line ; — it isn't only he as
does the copying, but she too ; nusses the baby, and minds
the kitchen fire, and goes on, sheet after sheet, all at the
same time ; and a very tidy thing they make of it, only they
do straggle their words so ; — well, they were saying as it's
one of the most remarkablest cases as ever was know'd."

" I don't see that I shah1 be any the better because it's
talked about."

" Well, Miss Margaret, I'm not so sure of that. It's my
belief that if one only gets talked about enough, one may
have a'most anything one chooses to ask for."

LADY BALL IN ARUNDEL STREET/ 329

"But I don't want to ask for anything."

" But if what we heard last night is all true, there's some-
body else that does want to ask for something, or, as has
asked, as folks say."

Margaret blushed up to the eyes, and then protested that
she did not know what Mrs. Buggins meant.

" I never dreamed of it, my dear ; indeed, I didn't, when
the old lady come here with her tantrums ; but now, it's as
plain as a pikestaff. If I'd a' known anything about that,
my dear, I shouldn't have made so free about Buggins ;
indeed, I shouldn't."

" You're talking nonsense, Mrs. Buggins ; indeed, you
are."

" They have the whole story all over the town at any
rate, and in the lane, and all about the courts ; and they
declare it don't matter a toss of a halfpenny which way the
matter goes, as you're to become Lady Ball the very moment
the case is settled."

Miss Mackenzie protested that Mrs. Buggins was a stupid
woman, — the stupidest woman she had ever heard or seen j
and then hurried up into her own room to hug herself in
her joy, and teach herself to believe that what so many
people said must at last come true.

Three days after this* a very fine, private carriage, with
two servants on a hammer cloth, drove up to the door in
Arundel Street, and the maid-servant, hurrying up stairs,
told Miss Mackenzie that a beautifully-dressed lady down
stairs was desirous of seeing her immediately.

880 MISS MACKENZIE

CHAPTER XXVI.

MRS. MACKENZIE OF CAVENDISH SQUARE.

" MY dear," said the beautifully-dressed lady, " you don't
know me, I think ; " and the beautifully-dressed lady
came up to Miss Mackenzie very cordially, took her by
the hand, smiled upon her, and seemed to be a very good-
natured person indeed. Margaret told the lady that she
did not know her, and at that moment was altogether at a
loss to guess who the lady might be. The lady might be
forty years of age, but was still handsome, and carried with
her that easy, self-assured, well-balanced manner, which, if
it be not overdone, goes so far to make up for beauty, if
beauty itself be wanting.

" I am your cousin, Mrs. Mackenzie, — Clara Mackenzie.
My husband is Walter Mackenzie, and his father is Sir
Walter Mackenzie, of Incharrow. Now you will know all
about me."

" Oh, yes, I know now," said Margaret.

" I ought, I suppose, to make ever so many apologies for
not coming to you before ; but I did call upon you, ever so
long ago ; I forget when, and after that you went to live at
Littlebath. And then we heard of you as being with Lady
Ball, and for some reason, which I don't quite understand,
it has always been supposed that Lady Ball and I were not
to know each other. And now I have heard this wonderful
story about your fortune, and about everything else, too, my
dear ; and it seems all very beautiful, and very romantic ;
and everybody says that you have behaved so well ; and so,
tp make a long story short, I have come to find you out in

MRS. MACKENZIE OF CAVENDISH SQUARE. 331

your hermitage, and to claim cousinship, and all that sort of
thing-."

" I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you, Mrs. Mac-
kenzie "

" Don't say it in that way, my dear, or else you'll make
me think you mean to turn a cold shoulder on me for not
coming to you before."

" Oh, no."

" But we've only just come to town ; and though of course
I heard the story down in Scotland "

"Did you?"

" Did I ? Why everybody is talking about it, and the
newspapers have been full of it."

" Oh, Mrs. Mackenzie, that is so terrible."

" But nobody has said a word against you. Even that
stupid clergyman, who calls you the lamb, has not pretended
to say that you were his lamb. We had the whole story of
the Lion and the Lamb in the Inverary Interpreter, but I
had no idea that itTwas you, then. But the long and the
short of it is, that my husband says he must know his
cousin ; and to tell the truth, it was he that sent me ; and
we want you to come and stay with us in Cavendish Square
till the lawsuit is over, and everything is settled."

Margaret was so startled by the proposition, that she did
not know how to answer it. Of course she was at first
impressed with a strong idea of the impossibility of her
complying with such a request, and was simply anxious to
find some proper way of refusing it. The Incharrow
Mackenzies were great people who saw much company, and
it was, she thought, quite out of the question that she should
go to their house. At no time of her career would she have
been, as she conceived, fit to live with such grand persons ;
but at the present moment, when she grudged herself even
a new pair of gloves out of the money remaining to her,
while she was still looking forward to a future life passed as
a nurse in a hospital, she felt that there would be an absolute
unfitness in such a visit.

"You are very kind," she said at last with faltering
voice, as she meditated in what words she might best convey
her refusal.

" No, I'm not a bit kind ; and I know from the tone of

832 MISS MACKENZIE.

your voice that you are meditating a refusal. But I don't
mean to accept it. It is much better that you should be
with us while all this is going- on, than that you should be
living here alone. And there .is no one with whom you
could live during this time so properly, as with those who
are your nearest relatives."

"But, Mrs. Mackenzie "

" I suppose you are thinking now of another cousin, but
it's not at all proper that you should go to his house ; — not
as yet, you know. And you need not suppose that he'll
object because of what I said about Lady Ball and myself.
The Capulets and the Montagues don't intend to keep it up
for ever ; and, though we have never visited Lady Ball, my
husband and the present Sir John know each other very
well."

Mrs. Mackenzie was not on that occasion able to persuade
Margaret to come at once to Cavendish Square, and neither
was Margaret able to give a fine refusal. She did not
intend to go, but she could not bring herself to speak a
positive answer in such a way as to have much weight with
Mrs. Mackenzie. That lady left her at last, saying that she
would send her husband, and promising Margaret that she
would herself come in ten days to fetch her.

" Oh no," said Margaret ; " it will be very good-natured
of you to come, but not for that."

" But I shall come, and shall come for that," said Mrs.
Mackenzie ; and at the end of the ten days she did come,
and she did carry her husband's cousin back with her to
Cavendish Square.

In the mean time Walter Mackenzie had called in Arundel
Street, and had seen Margaret. But there had been given
to her advice by a counsellor whom she was more inclined
to obey than any of the Mackenzies. John Ball had written
to her, saying that he had heard of the proposition, and
recommending her to accept the invitation given to her.

" Till all this trouble about the property is settled," said
he, " it will be much better that you should be with your
cousins than living alone in Mrs. Buggins' lodgings."

After receiving this Margaret held out no longer, but was
carried off by the handsome lady in the grand carriage, very
much to the delight of Mrs. Buggins.

MRS. MACKENZIE OF CAVENDISH SQUARE. 333

Mrs. Buggins' respect for Miss Mackenzie had returned
altogether since she had heard of the invitation to Cavendish
Square, and she apologised, almost without ceasing, for the
liberty she had taken in suggesting that Margaret should
drink tea with her husband.

"And indeed, Miss, I shouldn't have proposed such a
thing, were it ever so, if I had suspected for a hinstant how
things were a going to be. For Buggins is a man as knows
his place, and never puts hisself beyond it ! But you was
that close, Miss "

In answer to this Margaret would say that it didn't
signify, and that it wasn't on that account ; and I have no
doubt but that the two women thorouf^hly understood each
other.

There was a subject on which, in spite of all her respect,
Mrs. Buggins ventured to give Miss Mackenzie much advice,
and to insist on that advice strongly. Mrs. Buggins was
very anxious that the future " ^aronet'* lady " should go out
upon her grand visit with a proper assortment of clothing.
That argument of the baronet's lady wrts the climax of Mrs.
Buggins' eloquence : " You, my dear, sis is going to be one
baronet's lady is going to a lady who iu going to be another
baronet's lady, and it's only becoming you should go as is
becoming."

Margaret declared that she was not jfoing to be anybody's
lady, but Mrs. Buggins altogether po</h-poohed this asser-
tion.

" That, Miss, is your predestination," said Mrs. Buggins,
" and well you'll become it. And as for money, doesn't that
old party who found it all out say reg'iar once a month that
there's whatever you want to take for your own necessaries ?
and you that haven't had a shilling from him yet ! If it
was me, I'd send him in such a bill for necessaries as 'ud
open that old party's eyes a bit, and hurry him up with his
lawsuits."

The matter was at last compromised between her and
Margaret, and a very moderate expenditure for smarter
clothing was incurred.

On the day appointed Mrs. Mackenzie again came, and
Margaret was carried off to Cavendish Square. Here she
found herself suddenly brought into a. mode of life altogether

334 MISS MACKENZIE.

different from anything she had as yet experienced. The
Mackenzies were people who went much into society, and
received company frequently at their own house. The first
of these evils for a time Margaret succeeded in escaping, but
from the latter she had no means of withdrawing herself.
There was very much to astonish her at this period of her
life, but that which astonished her perhaps more than any-
thing else was her own celebrity. Everybody had heard of
the Lion and the Lamb, and everybody was aware that she
was supposed to represent the milder of those two favourite
animals. Everybody knew the story of her property, or
rather of the property which had never in truth been hers,
and which was now being made to pass out of her hands by
means of a lawsuit, of which everybody spoke as though it
were the best thing in the world for all the parties concerned.
People, when they mentioned Sir John Ball to her, — and he
was often so mentioned, — never spoke of him in harsh terms,
as though he were her enuru^ . She observed that he was
always named before her in that euphuistic language which
we naturally use when we speak to persons of those who are
nearest to them and dearest to them. The romance of the
thing, and not the pity of it, was the general subject of
discourse, so that she could not fail to perceive that she was
generally regarded as the future wife of Sir John Ball.

It was the sudden way in which all this had come upon
her that affected her so greatly. While staying in Arundel
Street she had been altogether ignorant that the story of
the Lion and the Lamb had become public, or that her name
had been frequent in men's mouths. When Mrs. Buggins
had once told her that she was thus becoming famous, she
had ridiculed Mrs. Buggins' statement. Mrs. Buggins had
brought home word from some tea-party that the story had
been discussed among her own friends ; but Miss Mackenzie
had regarded that as an accident. A lawyer's clerk or two
about Chancery Lane or Carey Street might by chance hear
of the matter in the course of their daily work ; — that it
should be so, and that such people talked of her affairs
distressed her ; but that had, she was sure, been all. Now,
however, in her new home she learned that Mr. Maguire's
efforts had become notorious, and that she and her history
were public property. When all this first became plain to

MRS. MACKENZIE OP CAVENDISH SQUARE. 335

her, it overwhelmed her so greatly that she was afraid to
show her face ; but this feeling gradually wore itself away,
and she found kerself able to look around upon the world
again, and ask herself new questions of the future, as she
had done when she had first found herself to be the possessor
of her fortune.

When she had been about three weeks with the Mac-
kenzies, Sir John Ball came to see her. He had written to
her once before that, but his letter had referred simply to
some matter of business. When he was shown into the
drawing-room in Cavendish Square, Mrs. Mackenzie and
Margaret were both there, but the former in a few minutes
got up and left the room. Margaret had wished with all
her heart that her hostess would remain with them. She
was sure that Sir John Ball had nothing to say that she
would care to hear, and his saying nothing would seem to be
of no special moment while three persons were in the room.
But his saying nothing when special opportunity for speaking
had been given to him would be of moment to her. Her
destiny was in his hands to such a degree that she felt his
power over her to amount almost to a cruelty. She longed
to ask him what her fate was to be, but it was a question
that she could not put to him. She knew that he would not
tell her now ; and she knew also that the very fact of his
not telling her would inflict upon her a new misery, and
deprive her of the comfort which she was beginning to
enjoy. If he could not tell her at once how all this was to
be ended, it would be infinitely better for her that he should
remain away from her altogether.

As soon as Mrs. Mackenzie had left the room he began to
describe to her his last interview with the lawyers. She
listened to him, and pretended to interest herself, but she
did not care two straws about the lawyers. Point after
point he explained to her, showing the unfortunate ingenuity
with which his uncle Jonathan had contrived to confuse his
affairs, and Margaret attempted to appear concerned. But
her mind had now for some months past refused to exert
itself with reference to the mode in which Mr. Jonathan
Ball had disposed of his money. Two years ago she had
been told that it was hers ; since that, she had been told
that it was not hers She had felt the hardship of this at

836 MISS MACKENZIE!.

first ; but now that feeling was over with her, and she did
not care to hear more about it. But she did care very much
to know what was to be her future fate.

" And when will be the end of it, John ? " she asked
him.

" Ha ! that seems so hard to say. They did name the
first of April, but it won't be so soon as that. Mr. Slow
said to-day about the end of April, but his clerk seems to
think it will be the middle of May."

" It is very provoking," said Margaret.

" Yes, it is," said John Ball, " very provoking ; I feel it so.
It worries me so terribly that I have no comfort in life.
But I suppose you find everything very nice here."

" They are very kind to me."

"Very kind, indeed. It was quite the proper thing for
them to do ; and when I heard that Mrs. Mackenzie had
been to you in Arundel Street, I was delighted."

Margaret did not dare to tell him that she would have
preferred to have been left in Arundel Street ; but that, at
the moment, was her feeling. If, when all this was over, she
would still have to earn her bread, it would have been much
better for her not to have come among her rich relations.
What good would it then do her to have lived two or three
months in Cavendish Square ?

" I wish it were all settled, John," she said ; and as she
spoke there was a tear standing in the corner of each eye.

" I wish it were, indeed," said John Ball ; but I think that
he did not see the tears.

It was on her tongue to speak some word about the
hospital ; but she felt that if she did so now, it would be
tantamount to asking him that question which it did not
become her to ask ; so she repressed the word, and sat in
silence.

" When the day is positively fixed for the hearing," said
he, " I will be sure to let you know."

" I wish you would let me know nothing further about it,
John, till it is all settled."

" I sometimes almost fancy that I wish the same thing,"
said he, with a faint attempt at a smile ; and after that he
got up and went his way.

This was not to be endured. Margaret declared to herself

MRS. MACKENZIE OF CAVENDISH SQUARE. 337

that she could not live and bear it. Let the people around
her say what they would, it could not be that he would treat
her in this way if he intended to make her his wife. It
would be better for her to make up her mind that it was not
to be so, and to insist on leaving the Mackenzies' house.
She would go, not again to Arundel Street, but to some
lodging further away, in some furthest recess of London,
where no one would come to her and flurry her with false
hopes, and there remain till she might be allowed to earn
her bread. That was the mood in which Mrs. Mackenzie
found her late in the afternoon on the day of Sir John Ball's
visit. There was to be a dinner party in the house that
evening, and Margaret began by asking leave to absent
herself.

" Nonsense, Margaret," said Mrs. Mackenzie ; " I won't
have anything of the kind."

" I cannot come down, Mrs. Mackenzie ; I cannot,
indeed."

" That is absolute nonsense. That man has been saying
something unkind to you. Why do you mind what he
says ? "

" He has not said anything unkind ; he haa not said any.
thing at all." •

" Oh, that's the grief, is it ? "

" I don't know what you mean by grief ; but if you were
situated as I am you would perceive that you were in a false
position."

"I am sure he has been saying something unkind to
you."

Margaret hardly knew how to tell her thoughts and
feelings, and yet she wished to tell them. She had resolved
that she would tell the whole to Mrs. Mackenzie, having
convinced herself that she could not carry out her plan of
leaving Cavendish Square without some explanation of the
kind. She did not know how to make her speech with
propriety, so she jumped at the difficulty boldly. " The
truth is, Mrs. Mackenzie, that he has no more idea of
marrying me than he has of marrying you."

" Margaret, how can you talk such nonsense ? "

" It is not nonsense ; it is true ; and it will be much
better that it should all be understood at once. I have
22

MISS MACKENZIE.

nothing- to blame him for, nothing ; and I don't blame him ;
but I cannot bear this kind of life any longer. It is killing me.
What business have I to be living here in this way, when I
have got nothing of my own, and have no one to depend on
but myself? "

" Then he must have said something to you ; but, what-
ever it was, you cannot but have misunderstood him."

" No ; he has said nothing, and I have not misunderstood
him." Then there was a pause.

" He has said nothing to me, and I am bound to under-
stand what that means."

" Margaret, I want to put one question to you," said Mrs.
Mackenzie, speaking with a serious air that was very unusual
with her ; — " and you will understand, dear, that I only do
so because of what you are saying now."

"You may put any question you please to me," said
Margaret.

" Has your cousin ever asked you to be his wife, or has he
not ? "

" Yes, he has. He has asked me twice."

" And what answer did you make him."

" When I thought all the property was mine, I refused
him. The-n, when the property became his, he asked me
again, and I accepted him. Sometimes, when I think of
that, I feel so ashamed of myself, that I hardly dare to hold
up my head."

" But you did not accept him simply because you had lost
your money."

" No ; but it looks so like it ; does it not ? And of course
he must think that I did so."

" I am quite sure he thinks nothing of the kind. But he
did ask you, and you did accept him ? "

"Oh, yes."

" And since that, has he ever said anything to you to
signify that the match should be broken off? "

" The very day after he had asked me, Mr. Maguire canio
to the Cedars and saw me, and Lady Ball was there too.
And he was very false, and told my aunt things that were
altogether untrue. He said that, — that I had promised to
marry him, and Lady Ball believed him."

" But did Mr. Ball believe him ? "

MRS. MACKENZIE OF CAVENDISH SQUARE. 339

" My aunt said all that she could against me, and when
John spoke to me the next day, it was clear that he was
very angry with me."

" But did he believe you or Mr. Maguire when you told
him that Mr. Maguire's story was a falsehood from begin-
ning to end ? "

"But it was not a falsehood from beginning to end.
That's where I have been so very, very unfortunate ; and
perhaps I ought to say, as I don't want to hide anything
from you, so very, very wrong. The man did ask me to
marry him, and I had given him no answer."

" Had you thought of accepting him ? "

" I had not thought about that at all, when he came to
me. So I told him that I would consider it all, and that he
must come again."

" And he came again."

"Then my brother's illness occurred, and I went to
London. After that Mr. Maguire wrote to me two or
three times, and I refused him in the plainest language that
I could use. I told him that I had lost all my fortune,
and then I was sure that there would be an end of
any trouble from him ; but he came to the Cedars on
purpose to do me all this injury ; and now that he has
put all these stories about me into the newspapers, how
can I think that any man would like to make me his wife ?
I have no right to be surprised that Lady Ball should be so
eager against it."

" But did Mr. Ball believe you when you told him this
story ? "

" I think he did believe me."

"And what did he say?"

Margaret did not answer at once, but sat with her fingers
,up among her hair upon her brow :

" I am trying to think what were his words," she said,
" but I cannot remember. I spoke more than he did. He
said that I should have told him about Mr. Maguire, and
I tried to explain to him that there had been no time
to do so. Then I said that he could leave me if he
liked."

" And what did he answer ? "

"If I remember rightly, he made no answer. He left mo
22—2

340 MISS MACKENZIE.

saying that he would see me again the next day. But the
next day I went away. I would not remain in the house
with Lady Ball after what she had believed about me. She
took that other man's part against me, and therefore I went
away."

" Did he say anything as to your going ? "

" He begged me to stay, but I would not stay. I thought
it was all over then. I regarded him as being quite free from
any engagement, and myself as being free from any necessity
of obeying him. And it was all over. I had no right to
think anything else."

" And what came next ? "

" Nothing. Nothing else has happened, except that Lady
Bail came to me in Arundel Street, asking me to renounce
him."

"And you refused?"

" Yes ; I would do nothing at her bidding. Why should
I ? She had been my enemy throughout, since she found
that the money belonged to her son and not to me."

" And all this time you have seen him frequently ? "

" I have seen him sometimes about the business."

" And he has never said a word to you about your engage-
ment to him ? "

" Never a word."

"Nor you to him?"

" Oh, no ! how could I speak to him about it ? "

" I would have done so. I would not have had my heart
crushed within me. But perhaps you were right. Perhaps
it was best to be patient."

" I know that I have been wrong to expect anything or to
hope for anything," said Margaret. " What right have I to
hope for anything when I refused him while I was rich ? "

" That has nothing to do with it."

"When he asked me again, he only did it because ho
pitied me. I don't want to be any man's wife because he
pities me."

" But you accepted him."

" Yes ; because I loved him."

" And now ? " Again Miss Mackenzie sat silent, still
moving her fingers among the locks upon her brow. " And
now, Margaret ? " repeated Mrs. Mackenzie.

MRS. MACKENZIE OP CAVENDISH SQUARE. 34

" What's the use of it now ? "

" But you do love him ? "

" Of course I love him. How shall it be otherwise ?
"What has he done to change my love ? His feelings have
changed, and I have no right to blame him. He has
changed ; and I hate myself, because I feel that in coming
here I have, as it were, run after him. I should have put
myself in some place where no thought of marrying him
should ever have come again to me."

" Margaret, you are wrong throughout."

" Am I ? Everybody always says that I am always
wrong."

" If I can understand anything of the matter, Sir John
Ball has not changed."

" Then, why— why— why— ? "

" Ah, yes, exactly ; why ? Why is it that men and
women cannot always understand each other ; that they will
remain for hours in each other's presence without the power
of expressing, by a single word, the thoughts that are busy
within them ? Who can say why it is so ? Can you get up
and make a clean breast of it all to him ? "

" But I am a woman, and am very poor."

" Yes, and he is a man, and, like most men, very dumb
when they have anything at heart which requires care in the
speaking. He knows no better than to let things be as they
are ; to leave the words all unspoken till he can say to you,
1 Now is the time for us to go and get ourselves married ; '
just as he might tell you that now was the time to go
and dine.''

"But will he ever say that ? "

" Of course he will. If he does not say so when all this
business is off his mind, when Mr. Maguire and his charges
are put at rest, when the lawyers have finished their work,
then come to me and tell me that I have deceived you. Say
to me then, ' Clara Mackenzie, you have put me wrong, and
I look to you to put me right.' You will find I will put you
right."

In answer to this, Margaret was able to say nothing
further. She sat for a while with her face buried in her
hands thinking of it all, asking herself whether she might
dare to believe it all. At last, however, she went up to

342 MISS MACKENZIE.

dress for dinner ; and when she came down to the drawing-
room there was a smile upon her face.

After that a month or six weeks passed in Cavendish
Square, and there was, during all that time, no further
special reference to Sir John Ball or his affairs. Twice he
was asked to dine with the Mackenzies, and on both
occasions he did so. On neither of those evenings did he
say very much to Margaret ; but, on both of them he said
some few words, and it was manifestly his desire that they
should be regarded as friends.

And as the spring came on, Margaret's patience returned
to her, and her spirits were higher than they had been at
any time since she first discovered that success among the
Stumfoldians at Littlebath did not make her happy.

NEGRO SOLDIERS' ORPHAN BAZAAR. 343

CHAPTER XXVU.

THE NEGRO SOLDIERS* ORPHAN BAZAAR.

IN the spring days of the early May there came up in
London that year a great bazaar, — a great charity bazaar
on behalf of the orphan children of negro soldiers who
had fallen in the American war. Tidings had come
to this country that all slaves taken in the revolted
States had been made free by the Northern invaders, and
that these free men had been called upon to show their im-
mediate gratitude by becoming soldiers in the Northern
ranks. As soldiers they were killed in battle, or died, and
as dead men they left orphans behind them. Information
had come that many of these orphans were starving, and
hence had arisen the cause for the Negro Soldiers' Orphan
Bazaar. There was still in existence at that time, down at
South Kensington, some remaining court or outstanding
building which had belonged to the Great International
Exhibition, and here the bazaar was to be held. I do not
know that I can trace the way in which the idea grew and
became great, or that anyone at the time was able to
attribute the honour to the proper founder. Some gave
it all to the Prince of Wales, declaring that his royal
highness had done it out of his own head ; and others wer^
sure that the whole business had originated with a certain
philanthropical Mr. Manfred Smith who had lately come
up in the world, and was supposed to have a great deal
to do with most things. Be that as it may, this thing
did grow and become great, and there was a list of lady
patronesses which included some duchesses, one marchioness,

344 MISS MACKENZIE.

and half the countesses in London. It was soon manifest to
the eyes of those who understood such things, that the Negro
Soldiers' Orphan Bazaar was to be a success, and therefore
there was no difficulty whatsoever in putting the custody of
the stalls into the hands of proper persons. The difficulty
consisted in rejecting offers from persons who undoubtedly
were quite proper for such an occasion. There came to be
interest made for permission to serve, and boastings were
heard of unparalleled success in the bazaar line. The Duchess
of St. Bungay had a happy bevy of young ladies who were
to act as counter attendants under her grace ; and who so
happy as any young lady who could get herself put upon
the duchess's staff ? It was even rumoured that a certain
very distinguished person would have shown herself behind
a stall, had not a certain other more distinguished person
expressed an objection ; and while the rumour was afloat as
to the junior of those two distinguished persons, the young-
ladydom of London was frantic in its eagerness to officiate.
Now at that time there had become attached to the name of
our poor Griselda a romance with which the west-end of
London had become wonderfully well acquainted. The story
of the Lion and the Lamb was very popular. Mr. Maguire
may be said to have made himself odious to the fashionable
world at large, and the fate of poor Margaret Mackenzie
with her lost fortune, and the additional misfortune of her
clerical pledged protector, had recommended itself as being
truly interesting to all the feeling hearts of the season.
Before May was over, gentlemen were enticed to dinner
parties by being told, — and untruly told, — that the Lamb
had been " secured ; " as on the previous year they had been
enticed by a similar assurance as to Bishop Colenso ;
and when Margaret on one occasion allowed herself
to be taken to Covent Garden Theatre, every face from
the stalls was turned towards her between the acts.

Who then was more fit to take a stall, or part of a stall
at the Negro Soldiers' Orphan Bazaar, than our Griselda ?
When the thing loomed so large, lady patronesses began to
be aware that mere nobodies would hardly be fit for the
work. There would have been little or no difficulty in
carrying out a law that nobody should take a part in the
business who had not some handle to her name, but it was

THE NEGRO SOLDIERS* ORPHAN BAZAAR. 345

felt that such an arrangement as that might lead to failure
rather than glory. The commoner world must be repre-
sented, but it should be represented only by ladies who had
made great names for themselves. Mrs. Conway Sparkes, the
spiteful poetess, though she was old and ugly as well as
spiteful, was to have a stall and a bevy, because there was
thought to be no doubt about her poetry. Mrs. Chaucer
Munro had a stall and a bevy ; but I cannot clearly tell her
claim to distinction, unless it was that she had all but lost
her character four times, but had so saved it on each of
those occasions that she was just not put into the Index
Expurgatorius of fashionable society in London. It was
generally said by those young men who discussed the sub-
ject, that among Mrs. Chaucer Munro's bevy would be found
the most lucrative fascination of the day. And then Mrs.
Mackenzie was asked to take a stall, or part of a stall, and
to bring Griselda with her as her assistant. By this time
the Lamb was most generally known as " Griselda " among
fashionable people.

Now Mrs. Mackenzie was herself a woman of fashion,
and quite open to the distinction of having a part assigned
to her at the great bazaar of the season. She did not at all
object to a booth on the left hand of the Duchess of St.
Bungay, although it was just opposite to Mrs. Chaucer
Munro. She assented at once.

" But you must positively bring Griselda," said Lady
Glencora Palliser, by whom the business of this mission was
conducted.

"Of course, I understand that," said Mrs. Mackenzie.
" But what if she won't come ? "

" Griseldas are made to do anything," said Lady Glencora,
" and of course she must come."

Having settled the difficulty in this way, Lady Glencora
went her way, and Mrs. Mackenzie did not allow Griselda
to go to her rest that night till she had extracted from her a
promise of acquiescence, which, I think, never would have
been given had Miss Mackenzie understood anything of the
3ircumstances under which her presence was desired.

But the promise was given, and Margaret knew little or
nothing of what was expected from her till there came up,
about a fortnight before the day of the bazaar, the great

346 MISS MACKESZifi.

question of her dress for the occasion. Previous to that she
would fain have been energetic in collecting and making
things for sale at her stall, for she really taught herself to
be anxious that the negro soldiers' orphans should have
provision made for them ; but, alas ! her energy was all
repressed, and she found that she was not to be allowed to
do anything in that direction.

" Things of that sort would not go down at all now-a-days,
Margaret," said Mrs. Mackenzie. " Nobody would trouble
themselves to carry them away. There are tradesmen who
furnish the stalls, and mark their own prices, and take back
what is not sold. You charge double the tradesman's price,
that's all."

Margaret, when her eyes were thus opened, of course
ceased to make little pincushions, but she felt that her in-
terest in the thing was very much lowered. But a word
must be said as to that question of the dress. Miss Mac-
kenzie, when she was first interrogated as to her intentions,
declared her purpose of wearing a certain black silk dress
frhich had seen every party at Mrs. Stumfold's during Mar-
garet's Littlebath season. To this her cousin demurred,
and from demurring proceeded to the enunciation of a posi-
tive order. The black silk dress in question should not be
worn. Now Miss Mackenzie chose to be still in mourning
on the second of June, the day of the bazaar, her brother
having died in September, and had no fitting garment, so
she said, other than the black silk in question. Whereupon
Mrs. Mackenzie, without further speech to her cousin on
the subject, went out and purchased a muslin covered all
over with the prettiest little frecks of black, and sent a
milliner to Margaret, and provided a bonnet of much the
same pattern, the gayest, lightest, jauntiest, falsest, most
make-belief-mourning bonnet that ever sprang from the art
of a designer in bonnets, — and thus nearly broke poor Mar-
garet's heart.

" People should never have things given them, who can't
buy for themselves," she said, with tears in her eyes,
" because of course they know what it means."

" But, my dearest," said Mrs. Mackenzie, " young ladies
who never have any money of their own at all always accept
presents from all their relations. It is their special privilege."

347

"Oh, yes, young ladies; but not women like me who
are waiting1 to find out whether they are ruined or not."

The difficulty, however, was at last overcome, and Mar-
garet, with many inward upbraidings of her conscience, con-
sented to wear the black- freckled dress.

" I never saw anybody look so altered in my life," said
Mrs. Mackenzie, when Margaret, apparelled, appeared in
the Cavendish Square drawing-room on the morning in
question. " Oh, dear, I hope Sir John Ball will come to
look at you."

" Nonsense ! he won't be such a fool as to do anything of
the kind."

" I took care to let him know that you would be there,"
said Mrs. Mackenzie.

" You didn't ? "

« But I did, my dear."

" Oh, dear, what will he think of me ? " ejaculated Mar-
garet ; but nevertheless I fancy that there must have been
some elation in her bosom when she regarded herself and
the freckled muslin in the glass.

Both Mrs. Mackenzie and Miss Mackenzie had more than
once gone down to the place to inspect the ground and make
themselves familiar with the position they were to take.
There were great stalls and little stalls, which came alter-
nately ; and the Mackenzie stall stood next to a huge centre
booth at which the duchess was to preside. On their other
hand was the stall of old Lady Ware, and opposite to them,
as has been before said, the doubtful Mrs. Chaucer Munro
was to hold difficult sway over her bevy of loud nymphs.
Together with Mrs. Mackenzie wore two other Miss Mac-
kenzies, sisters of her husband, handsome, middle-aged
women, with high cheek-bones and fine brave-looking eyes.
All the Mackenzies, except our Griselda, were dressed in the
tartan of their clan ; and over the stall there was some
motto in Gaelic, " Dhu dhaith donald dhuth," which nobody
could understand, but which was not the less expressive,
Indeed, the Mackenzie stall was got up very well ; but then
was it not known and understood that Mrs. Mackenzie did
get up things very well ? It was acknowledged on all sides
that the Lamb, Griselda, was uncommonly well got up cii
this occasion

348 MISS MACKENZIE.

It was understood that the ladies were to be assembled
in the bazaar at half-past two, and that the doors were to be
thrown open to the public at three o'clock. Soon after half-
past two Mrs. Mackenzie's carriage was at the door, and the
other Mackenzies having come up at the same time, the
Mackenzie phalanx entered the building together. There
were many others with them, but as they walked up they
found the Countess of Ware standing alone in the centre
building, with her four daughters behind her. She had on
her head a wonderful tiara, which gave to her appearance a
ferocity almost greater than was natural to her. She was a
woman with square jaws, and a big face, and stout shoulders ;
but she was not, of her own unassisted height, very tall.
But of that tiara and its altitude she was proud, and as she
stood in the midst of the stalls, brandishing her umbrella-
sized parasol in her anger, the ladies, as they entered, might
well be cowed by her presence.

" When ladies say half-past two," said she, " they ought to
come at half-past two. Where is the Duchess of St.
Bungay ? I shall not wait for her ? "

But there was a lady there who had come in behind the
Mackenzies, whom nothing ever cowed. This was the Lady
Glencora Palliser, the great heiress who had married the
heir of a great duke, pretty, saucy, and occasionally in-
temperate, in whose eyes Lady Ware with her ferocious
tiara was simply an old woman in a ridiculous head-gear.
The countess had apparently addressed herself to Mrs. Mac*
kenzie, who had been the foremost to enter the building, and
our Margaret had already begun to tremble. But Lady
Glencora stepped forward, and took the brunt of the battle
upon herself.

" Nobody ever yet was so punctual as my Lady Ware,"
said Lady Glencora.

" It is very annoying to be kept waiting on such occa-
sions," said the countess.

" But, my dear Lady Ware, who keeps you waiting ?
There is your stall, and why on earth should you stand
here and call us all over as we come in, like naughty
schoolboys ? "

"The duchess said expressly that she would be here at
half-past two."

THE NEGRO SOLDIERS* ORPHAN BA7AAR. 349

" Who ever expects the dear duchess to keep her word ? "
said Lady Glencora.

"Or whoever cared whether she does or does not ? " said
Mrs. Chaucer Munro, who, with her peculiar bevy, had now
made her way up among the front rank.

Then to have seen the tiara of Lady Ware, as it wagged
and nodded while she looked at Mrs. Munro, and to have
witnessed the high moral tone of the ferocity with which
she stalked away to her own stall with her daughters behind
her, — a tragi-comedy which it was given to no mole eyes to
behold, — would have been worth the whole after-performance
of the bazaar. No male eyes beheld that scene, as Mr.
Manfred Smith, the manager, had gone out to look for his
duchess, and missing her carriage in the crowd, did not re-
turn till the bazaar had been opened. That Mrs. Chaucer
Munro did not sink, collapsed, among her bevy, must have
been owing altogether to that callousness which a long habit
of endurance produces. Probably she did feel something as
at the moment there came no titter from any other bevy
corresponding to the titter which was raised by her own.
She and her bevy retired to their allotted place, conscious
that their time for glory could not come till the male world
should appear upon the scene. But Lady Ware's tiara still
wagged and nodded behind her counter, and Margaret,
looking at her, thought that she must have come there as
the grand duenna of the occasion.

Just at three o'clock the poor duchess hurried into the
building in a terrible flurry, and went hither and thither
among the stalls, not knowing at first where was her throne.
Unkind chance threw her at first almost into the booth of
Mrs. Conway Sparkes, the woman whom of all women she
hated the most ; and from thence she recoiled into the arms
of Lady Hartletop, who was sitting serene, placid, and con-
tented in her appointed place.

" Opposite, I think, duchess," Mrs. Conway Sparkes had
said. "We are only the small fry here."

" Oh, ah ; I beg pardon. They told me the middle, to the
left."

" And this is the middle to the right," said Mrs. Conway
Sparkes. But the duchess had turned round since she
came in, and could not at all understand where she was.

350 MISS MACKENZIE.

" Under the canopy, duchess," just whispered Lady Hartle-
top. Lady Hartletop was a young1 woman who knew her
right hand from her left under all circumstances of life, and
who never made any mistakes. The duchess looked up in
her confusion to the centre of the ceiling, but could see no
canopy. Lady Hartletop had done all that could be required
of her, and if the duchess were to die amidst her difficulties
it would not be her fault. Then came forth the Lady
Glencora, and with true charity conducted the lady-president
to her chair, just in time to avoid the crush, which ensued
upon the opening of the doors.

The doors were opened, and very speedily the space of the
bazaar between the stalls became too crowded to have
admitted the safe passage of such a woman as the Duchess
of St. Bungay ; but Lady Glencora, who was less majestic
in her size and gait, did not find herself embarrassed. And
now there arose, before the general work of fleecing the
wether lambs had well commenced, a terrible discord, as of a
brass band with broken bassoons, and trumpets all out of
order, from the further end of the building, — a terrible noise
of most unmusical music, such as Bartholomew Fair in its
loudest days could hardly have known. At such a diapason
one would have thought that the tender ears of May Fair
and Belgravia would have been crushed and cracked and
riven asunder ; that female voices would have shrieked, and
the intensity of fashionable female agony would have dis-
played itself in all its best recognised forms. But the crash
of brass was borne by them as though they had been rough
schoolboys delighting in a din. The duchess gave one jump,
and then remained quiet and undismayed. It' Lady Hartle-
top heard it, she did not betray the hearing. Lady Glencora
for a moment put her hands to her ears as she laughed, but
she did it as though the prettiness of the motion were its
only one cause. The fine nerves of Mrs. Conway Sparkes,
the poetess, bore it all without flinching ; and Mrs. Chaucer
Munro with her bevy rushed forward so that they might
lose nothing of what was coming.

" What are they going to do ? " said Margaret to her
cousin, in alarm.

" It's the play part of the thing. Have you not seen the
bills ? " Then Margaret looked at a great placard which

THE NKGRO SOLDIERS' ORPHAN BAZAAR. 351

was exhibited near to her, which, though by no means in-
telligible to her, gave her to understand that there was a
show in progress. The wit of the thing seemed to consist
chiefly in the wonderful names chosen. The King of the
Cannibal Islands was to appear on a white charger. King
Ghrononhotonthologos was to be led in chains by Tom
Thumb. Achilles would drag Hector thrice round the walls
of Troy ; and Queen Godiva would ride through Coventry,
accompanied by Lord Burghley and the ambassador from
Japan. It was also signified that in some back part of the
premises a theatrical entertainment would be carried on
throughout the afternoon, the King of the Cannibal Islands,
with his royal brother and sister Chrononhotonthologos and
Godiva, taking principal parts ; but as nobody seemed to
go to the theatre the performers spent their time chiefly
in making processions through and amidst the stalls, when,
as the day waxed hot, and the work became heavy, they
seemed to be taken much in dudgeon by the various bevies
with whose business they interfered materially.

On this, their opening march, they rushed into the bazaar
with great energy, and though they bore no resemblance to
the characters named in the playbill, and though there was
among them neither a Godiva, a Hector, a Tom Thumb, or
a Japanese, nevertheless, as they were dressed in paint and
armour after the manner of the late Mr. Richardson's heroes,
and as most of the ladies had probably been without previous
opportunity of seeing such delights, they had their effect.
When they had made their twenty-first procession the thing
certainly grew stale, and as they brought with them an in-
finity of dirt, they were no doubt a nuisance. But no one
would have been inclined to judge these amateur actors with
harshness who knew how much they themselves were called
on to endure, who could appreciate the disgusting misery of
a hot summer afternoon spent beneath dust and paint and
tin-plate armour, and who woutd remember that the per-
formers received payment neither in eclat nor in thanks, nor
even in the smiles of beauty.

" Can't somebody tell them not to come any more ? " said
the duchess, almost crying with vexation towards the end of
the afternoon.

Then Mr. Manfred Smith, who managed everything,

852 MISS MACKENZIE.

went to the rear, and the king and warriors were sent
away to get beer or cooling drinks at their respective
clubs.

Poor Mr. Manfred Smith ! He had not been present at
the moment in which he was wanted to lead the duchess to
her stall, and the duchess never forgave him. Instead of
calling him by his name from time to time, and enabling him
to shine in public as he deserved to shine, — for he had
worked at the bazaar for the last six weeks as no professional
man ever worked at his profession, — the duchess always
asked for " somebody " when she wanted Mr. Smith, and
treated him when he came as though he had been a servant
hired for the occasion. One very difficult job of work
was given to him before the day was done ; " I wish
you'd go over to those young women," said the duchess,
"and say that if they make so much noise, I must go
away."

The young women in question were Mrs. Chaucer Munro
and her bevy, and the commission was one which poor
Manfred Smith found it difficult to execute.

" Mrs. Munro," said he, " you'll be sorry to hear — that the
duchess — has got — a headache, and she thinks we all might
be a little quieter."

The shouts of the loud nymphs were by this time high.
" Pooh ! " said one of them. " Headache indeed ! " said
another. "Bother her head!" said a third. "If the
duchess is ill, perhaps she had better retire," said Mrs.
Chaucer Munro. Then Mr. Manfred Smith walked off
sorrowfully towards the door, and seating himself on the
stool of the money-taker by the entrance, wiped off the
perspiration from his brow. He had already put on his
third pair of yellow kid gloves for the occasion, and they
were soiled and torn and disreputable ; his polished boots
were brown with dust ; the magenta ribbon round his neck
had become a moist rope ; his hat had been thrown down
and rumpled ; a drop of oil had made a spot upon his
trousers ; his whiskers were draggled and out of order, and
his mouth was full of dirt. I doubt if Mr. Manfred Smith
will ever undertake to manage another bazaar.

The duchess I think was right in her endeavour to miti-
gate the riot among Mrs. Munro's nymphs. Indeed there

TBB NEGRO SOLDIERS' ORPHAN BAZAAR, 353

was rioting- among other nymphs than hers, though her
noise and their noise was the loudest ; and it was difficult to
say how there should not be riot, seeing what was to be the
recognised manner of transacting business. At first there
was something of prettiness in the rioting. The girls, who
went about among the crowd, begging men to put their
hands into lucky bags, trading in rose-buds, and asking for
half-crowns for cigar lighters, were fresh in their muslins,
pretty with their braided locks, and perhaps not impudently
over-pressing in their solicitations to male strangers. While
they were not as yet either aweary or habituated to the
necessity of importunity, they remembered their girlhood
and their ladyhood, their youth and their modesty, and still
carried with them something of the bashfulness of maiden-
hood ; and the young men, the wether lambs, were as yet
flush with their half-crowns, and the elder sheep had not
quite dispensed the last of their sovereigns or buttoned up
their trousers pockets. But as the work went on, and the
dust arose, and the prettinesses were destroyed, and money
became scarce, and weariness was felt, and the heat showed
itself, and the muslins sank into limpness, and the ribbons
lost their freshness, and braids of hair grew rough and
loose, and sidelocks displaced themselves, — as girls became
used to soliciting, and forgetful of their usual reticences in
their anxiety for money, the charm of the thing went, and
all was ugliness and rapacity. Young ladies no longer
moved about, doing works of charity ; but harpies and
uuclean birds were greedy in quest of their prey.

" Put a letter in my post-office," said one of Mrs.
Munro's bevy, who officiated in a postal capacity behind a
little square hole, to a young man on whom she pounced
out and had caught him and brought up, almost with
violence.

The young man tendered some scrap of paper and a six-
pence.

" Only sixpence ! " said the girl.

A cabman could not have made the complaint with a more
finished accent of rapacious disgust.

" Never mind," said the girl, " I'll give you an answer."

Then, with inky fingers and dirty hand, she tendered him
some scrawl, and demanded five shillings postage.
23

354) MISS MACKENZIE.

" Five shillings ! " said the young man. " Oh, I'm d ."

Then he gave her a shilling and walked away. She
ventured to give one little halloa after him, but she caught
the duchess's eye looking at her, and was quiet.

I don't think there was much real flirting done. Men
won't flirt with draggled girls, smirched with dust, weary
with work, and soiled with heat ; and especially they will
not do so at the rate of a shilling a word. When the whole
thing was over, Mrs. Chaucer Munro's bevy, lying about on
the benches in fatigue before they went away, declared that,
as far as they were concerned, the thing was a mistake.
The expenditure in gloves and muslin had been considerable,
and the returns to them had been very small. It is not only
that men will not flirt with draggled girls, but they will carry
away with them unfortunate remembrances of what they have
seen and heard. Upon the whole it may be doubted whether
any of the bevies were altogether contented with the
operations on the occasion of the Negro Soldiers' Orphan
Bazaar.

Miss Mackenzie had been, perhaps, more fortunate than
eome of the others. It must, however, be remembered that
there are two modes of conducting business at these bazaars.
There is the travelling merchant, who roams about, and
there is the stationary merchant, who remains always behind
her counter. It is not to be supposed that the Duchess of
St. Bungay spent the afternoon rushing about with a lucky
bag. The duchess was a stationary trader, and so were all
the ladies who belonged to the Mackenzie booth. Miss
Mackenzie, the lamb, had been much regarded, and conse-
quently the things at her disposal had been quickly sold.
It had all seemed to her to be very wonderful, and as the
fun grew fast and furious, as the young girls became eager
in their attacks, she made up her mind that she would never
occupy another stall at a bazaar. One incident, and but one,
occurred to her during the day ; and one person came to her
that she knew, and but one. It was nearly six, and she was
beginning to think that the weary work must soon be over,
when, on a sudden, she found Sir John Ball standing beside
her.

" Oh, John ! " she said, startled by his presence, " who
would have thought of seeing you here ? "

tHE NEGRO SOLDIERS' ORPHAN BAZAAR. 3o&

"And why not me as well as any other fool of my
age?"

" Because you think it is foolish," she answered, " and I
suppose the others don't."

" Why should you say that I think it foolish ? At
any rate, I'm glad to see you looking so nice and
happy."

" I don't know about being happy," said Margaret, — " or
nice either for the matter of that."

But there was a smile on her face as she spoke, and Sir
John smiled also when he saw it.

" Doesn't she look well in that bonnet ? " said Mrs. Mac-
kenzie, turning round to the side of the counter at which he
was standing. " It was my choice, and I absolutely made
her wear it. If you knew the trouble I had ! "

" It is very pretty," said Sir John.

" Is it not ? And are you not very much obliged to me ?
I'm sure you ought to be, for nobody before has ever taken
the trouble of finding out what becomes her most. As for
herself, she's much too well-behaved a young woman to
think of such vanities."

"Not at present, certainly," said Margaret.

" And why not at present ? She looks on those lawyers
and their work as though there was something fune-
real about them. You ought to teach her better, Sir
John."

"All that will be over in a day or two now," said
he.

" And then she will shake off her dowdiness and her
gloom together," said Mrs. Mackenzie. " Do you know I
fancy she has a liking for pretty things at heart as well
as another woman."

"I hope she has," said he.

" Of course you do. What is a woman worth without it ?
Don't be angry, Margaret, but I say a woman is worth
nothing without it, and Sir John will agree with me if he
knows anything about the matter. But, Margaret, why
don't you make him buy something ? He can't refuse
you if you ask him."

If Miss Mackenzie could thereby have provided for all the
negro soldiers' orphans in existence, I do not think that she
23—2

356 MISS MACKENZIE,

could at that moment have solicited him to make a
purchase.

" Come, Sir John," continued Mrs. Mackenzie, " you must
buy something of her. What do you say to this paper-
knife?"

" How much does the paper-knife cost ? " said he, still
smiling. It was a large, elaborate, and perhaps, I may say,
unwieldy affair, with a great elephant at the end of it.

" Oh ! that is terribly dear," said Margaret, " it costs two
pounds ten."

Thereupon he put his hand into his pocket, and taking out
his purse, gave her a five-pound note.

" We never give change," said Mrs. Mackenzie ; " do we,
Margaret ? "

" I'll give him change," said Margaret.

"I'll be extravagant for once," said Sir John, "and let
you keep the whole."

" Oh, John ! " said Margaret.

" You have no right to scold him yet," said Mrs.
Mackenzie.

Margaret, when she heard this, blushed up to her fore-
head, and in her confusion forgot all about the paper-knife
and the money. Sir John, I fancy, was almost as much
confused himself, and was quite unable to make any fitting
reply. But, just at that moment, there came across two
harpies from the realms of Mrs. Chaucer Munro, eagerly
intent upon their prey.

"Here are the lion and the lamb together," said one
harpy. " The lion must buy a rose to give to the lawab. Sir
Lion, the rose is but a poor half-crown." And she tendered
him a battered flower, leering at him from beneath her
draggled, dusty bonnet as she put forth her untempting
hand for the money.

" Sir Lion, Sir Lion," said the other harpy, " I want your
name for a raffle."

But the lion was off, having pushed the first harpy aside
somewhat rudely. That tale of the Lion and the Lamb
had been very terrible to him ; but never till this occasion
had any one dared to speak of it directly to his face. But
what will not a harpy do who has become wild and dirty
and disgusting in the pursuit of half-crowns ?

THE NEGRO SOLDIERS* ORPHAN BAZAAR. 357

" Now he is angry," said Margaret. *' Oh, Mrs. Mac-
kenzie, why did you say that ? "

" Yes ; he is angry," said Mrs. Mackenzie, " but not with
you or me. Upon my word, I thought he would have
pushed that girl over ; and if he had, he would only have
served her right."

" But why did you say that ? You shouldn't have said
it."

" About your not scolding him yet ? I said it, my
dear, because I wanted to make myself certain. I was
almost certain before, but now I am quite certain."

" Certain of what, Mrs. Mackenzie ? "

" That you'll be a baronet's wife before me, and entitled
to be taken out of a room first as long as dear old Sir
Walter is alive."

Soon after that the bazaar was brought to an end, and
it was supposed to have been the most successful thing
of the kind ever done in London. Loud boasts were
made that more than eight hundred pounds had been
cleared ; but whether any orphans of any negro soldiers
were ever the better for the money I am not able to
say.

858 MISS MACKENZIE.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

. SHOWING HOW THE LION WAS STUNG BY THE WASP.

IT may be remembered that Mr. Maguire, when he first
made public that pretty story of the Lion and the Lamb,
declared that he would give the lion no peace till that beast
had disgorged his prey, and that he had pledged himself to
continue the fight till he should have succeeded in bringing
the lamb back to the pleasant pastures of Littlebath. But
Mr. Maguire found some difficulty in carrying out his
pledge. He was willing enough to fight, but the weapons
with which to do battle were wanting to him. The
Christian Examiner, having got so far into the mess, and
finding that a ready sale did in truth result from any
special article as to the lion and the lamb, was indeed
ready to go on with the libel. The Christian Examiner
probably had not much to lose. But there arose a ques-
tion whether fighting simply through the columns of the
Christian Examiner was not almost tantamount to no
fight at all. He wanted to bring an action against Sir
John Ball, to have Sir John Ball summoned into court
and examined about the money, to hear some truculent
barrister tell Sir John Ball that he could not conceal
himself from the scorn of an indignant public behind the
spangles of his parvenu baronetcy. He had a feeling
that the lion would be torn to pieces, if only a properly
truculent barrister could be got to fix his claws into him.
But, unfortunately, no lawyer, — not even Solomon
Walker, the Low Church attorney at Littlebath, — would
advise him that he had any ground for an action, If in-

THE LION STUNG BY THE WASP. 359

deed he chose to proceed against the lady for a breach of
promise of marriage, then the result would depend on the
evidence. In such case as that the Low Church attorney at
Littlebath was willing to take the matter up. " Bnt Mr.
Maguire was, of course, aware," said Solomon Walker, "that
there was a prejudice in the public mind against gentlemen
appearing as parties to such suits." Mr. Maguire was also
aware that he could adduce no evidence to the fact beyond
his own unsupported, and, in such case, untrue word, and
declared therefore to the attorney, in a very high tone in-
deed, that on no account would he take any step to harass
the lady. It was simply against Sir John Ball that he
wished to proceed. " Things would come out in that trial,
Mr. Walker," he said, "which would astonish you and all
the legal world. A rapacious scheme of villany has been
conceived and brought to bear, through the stupidity of
some people and the iniquity of others, which would unroll
itself fold by fold as certainly as I stand here, if it were
properly handled by a competent barrister in one of our
courts of law." And I think that Mr. Maguire believed
what he was saying, and that he believed, moreover, that he
was speaking the truth when he told Mr. Walker that the
lady had promised to marry him. Men who can succeed in
deceiving no one else will succeed at last in deceiving them-
selves. But the lawyer told him, repeating the fact over
and over again, that the thing was impracticable ; that
there was no means of carrying the matter so far that Sir
John Ball should be made to appear in a witness box.
Everything that Sir John had done he had done legally ;
and even at that moment of the discussion between Mr.
Walker and Mr. Maguire, the question of the ownership of
the property was being tried before a proper tribunal in
London. Mr. Maguire still thought Mr. Walker to be
wrong, — thought that his attorney was a weak and ignorant
man ; but he acknowledged to himself the fact that he in his
unhappy position was unable to get any more cunning
attorney to take the matter in hand.

But the Christian Examiner still remained to him, and
that he used with diligence. From week to week there ap-
peared in it articles attacking the lion, stating that the lion
was still being watched, that his prey would be snatched

360 MIgg MACKENZIE.

from him at last, that the lamb should even yet have her
rights, and the like. And as the thing went on, the
periodical itself and the writer of the article became
courageous by habit, till things were printed which Sir John
Ball found it almost impossible to bear. It was declared
that he was going to desert the lamb, now that he had taken
all the lamb's property ; and that the lamb, shorn of all her
fleece, was to be condemned to earn her bread as a common
nurse in the wards of a common hospital, — all which infor-
mation came readily enough to Mr. Maguire by the hands
of Miss Colza. The papers containing these articles were
always sent to Sir John Ball and to Miss Mackenzie, and the
articles were always headed, "The Lion and the Lamb."
Miss Mackenzie, in accordance with an arrangement made
to that purpose, sent the papers as soon as they came to Mr.
Slow, but Sir John Ball had no such ready way of freeing
himself from their burden. He groaned and toiled under
them, going to his lawyer with them, and imploring permis-
sion to bring an action for libel against Mr. Maguire. The
venom of the unclean animal's sting had gone so deep into
him, that, fond as he was of money, he had told his lawyer
that he would not begrudge the expense if he could only
punish the man who was hurting him. But the attorney,
who understood something of feeling as well as something of
money, begged him to be quiet at any rate till the fate of
the property should be settled. "And if you'll take my ad-
vice, Sir John, you will not notice him at all. You may be
sure that he has not a shilling in the world, and that he
wants you to prosecute him. When you have got damages
against him, he will be off out of the country." "But I
shall have stopped his impudent ribaldry," said Sir John
Ball. Then the lawyer tried to explain to him that no one
read the ribaldry. It was of no use. Sir John read it him-
self, and that was enough to make him wretched.

The little fable which made Sir John so unhappy had not,
for some months past, appeared in any of the metropolitan
newspapers ; but when the legal inquiry into the proper dis-
position of Mr. Jonathan Ball's property was over, and when
it was known that, as the result of that inquiry, the will in
favour of the Mackenzies was to be set aside and the remains
of the property handed over to Sir John, then that very in*

THE LION STUNG BY THE WASP. 361

fluential newspaper, which in the early days of the question
had told the story of the Lion and the Lamb, told it all
again, tearing, indeed, the Littlebath Christian Examiner
into shreds for its iniquity, but speaking of the romantic
misfortune of the lamb in terms which made Sir John Ball
very unhappy. The fame which accrued to him from being
so publicly pointed out as a lion, was not fame of which he
was proud. And when the writer in this very influential
newspaper went on to say that the world was now looking
for a termination to this wonderful story, which would make
it pleasant to all parties, he was nearly beside himself in his
misery. He, a man of fifty, of slow habits, with none of the
buoyancy of youth left in him, apt to regard himself as older
than his age, who had lived with his father and mother
almost on an equality in regard to habits of life, the father
of a large family, of which the eldest was now himself a
man ! — Could it be endured that such a one as he should
enter upon matrimony amidst the din of public trumpets
and under a halo of romance ? The idea of it was frightful
to him. On the very day on which the result of the legal
investigation was officially communicated to him, he sat
in the old study at the Cedars with two newspapers before
him. In one of these there was a description of his love,
which he knew was intended as furtive ridicule, and an as-
surance to the public that the lamb's misfortunes would all
be remedied by the sweet music of the marriage bell. What
right had any one to assert publicly that he intended to
marry any one ? In his wretchedness and anger he would
have indicted this newspaper also for a libel, had not hi%
lawyer assured him that, according to law, there was no libel
in stating that a man was going to be married. The other
paper accused him of rapacity and dishonesty in that he
would not marry the lamb, now that he had secured the
lamb's fleece ; so that, in truth, he had no escape on either
side ; for Mr. Maguire, having at last ascertained that the
lamb had, in very truth, lost all her fleece, was no longer
desirous of any personal connection, and felt that he could
best carry out his pledge by attacking the possessor of the
fleece on that side. Under such circumstances, what was
such a man as Sir John Ball to do ? Could he marry his
cousin amidst the trumpets, and the halo, and the doggrel

362 MISS MACKENZIE.

poetry which would abound ? Was it right that he should
be made a mark for the finger of scorn ? Had he dono
anything to deserve this punishment ?

And it must be remembered that from day to day his own
mother, who lived with him, who sat with him late every
night talking on this one subject, was always instigating
him to abandon his cousin, It had been admitted between
them that he was no longer bound by his offer. Margaret
herself had admitted it, — " does not attempt to deny it," as
Lady Ball repeated over and over again. When he had
made his offer he had known nothing of Mr. Maguire's
offer, nor had Margaret then told him of it. Such reticence
on her part of course released him from his bond. So Lady
Ball argued, and against this argument her son made no
demur. Indeed it was hardly possible that he should com-
prehend exactly what had taken place between his cousin
and Mr. Maguire. His mother did not scruple to assure
him that she must undoubtedly at one time have accepted the
man's proposal. In answer to this John Ball would always
assert his entire reliance on his cousin's word.

" She did it without knowing that she did so," Lady Ball
would answer j " but in some language she must have as-
sented."

But the mother was never able to extract from the son
any intimation of his intention to give up the marriage,
though she used threats and tears, ridicule and argument, —
appeals to his pride and appeals to his pocket. He never
said so at least after that night on which Margaret in her
bedroom had told him her story with reference to Mr.
Maguire ; but neither did he ever say that he certainly would
not marry her. Lady Ball gathered from all his words a
conviction that he would be glad to be released, if he could
be released by any act on Margaret's behalf, and therefore
she had made her attempt on Margaret. With what success
the reader will, I hope, remember. Margaret, when she ac-
cepted her cousin's offer, had been specially bidden by him
to be firm. This bidding she obeyed, and on that side there
was no hope at all for Lady Ball.

I fear there was much of cowardice on Sir John's part.
He had, in truth, forgiven Margaret any offence that she had
committed in reference to Mr. Maguire. She had accepted

THE LION STUNG BY THE WASP. 3 Go

his offer while another offer was still dragging on an ex-
istence after a sort, and she had not herself been the first to
tell him of these circumstances. There had been offence to
him in this, but that offence he had, in truth, forgiven. Had
there been no Littlebath Christian Examiner, no tale of the
Lion and the Lamb, no publicity and no ridicule, he would
quietly have walked off with his cousin to some church,
having gone through all preliminary ceremonies in the most
silent manner possible for them, and would have quietly got
himself married and have carried Margaret home with him.
Now that his father wa£ dead and that his uncle Jonathan's
money had come to him, his pecuniary cares were compara-
tively light, and he believed that he could be very
happy with Margaret and his children. But then to be
pointed at daily as a lion, and to be asked by all his
acquaintance after the lamb ! It must be owned that he
was a coward ; but are not most men cowards in such
matters as that ?

But now the trial was over, the money was his own,
Margaret was left without a shilling in the world, and it
was quite necessary that he should make up his mind.
He had once told his lawyer, in his premature joy, on
that very day on which Mr. Maguire had come to the
Cedars, that everything was to be made smooth by a
marriage between himself and the disinherited heiress.
He had since told the lawyer that something had occurred
which might, perhaps, alter this arrangement. After that
the lawyer had asked no question about the marriage ;
but when he communicated to his client the final intelli-
gence that Jonathan Ball's money was at his client's dis-
posal, he said that it would be well to arrange what
should be done on Miss Mackenzie's behalf.

Sir John Ball had assumed very plainly a look of vex-
ation when the question was put to him.

" I promised Mr. Slow that I would ask you," said the
lawyer. "Mr. Slow is of course anxious for his client."

" It is my business and not Mr. Slew's," said Sir John
Ball, " and you may tell him that I say so."

Then there had been a moment's silence, and Sir John
had felt himself to be wrong.

"Pray tell him also," said Sir John, "that I am very

364 MISS MACKENZIE.

grateful to him for his solicitude about my cousin, and
that I fully appreciate his admirable conduct both to her
and me throughout all this affair. When I have made
up my mind what shall be done, I will let him know at
once."

As he walked down from his lawyer's chambers in Bedford
Row to the railway station he thought of all this, and
thought also of those words which Mrs. Mackenzie had
spoken to him in the bazaar. " You have no right to scold
him yet," she had said to Margaret. Of course he had
understood what they meant, and of course Margaret had
understood them also. And he had not been at all angry
when they were spoken. Margaret had been so prettily
dressed, and had looked so fresh and nice, that at that
moment he had forgotten all his annoyances in his admira-
tion, and had listened to Mrs. Mackenzie's cunning speech,
not without confusion, but without any immediate desire to
contradict its necessary inference. A moment or two after-
wards the harpies had been upon him, and then he had gone
off in his anger. Poor Margaret had been unable to distin-
guish between the effects produced by the speech and by the
harpies ; but Mrs. Mackenzie had been more clever, and had
consequently predicted her cousin's speedy promotion in the
world's rank.

Sir John, as he went home, made up his mind to one of
two alternatives. He would either marry his cousin or halve
Jonathan Ball's money with her. He wanted to marry her
and he wanted to keep the money. He wanted to marry her
especially since he had seen how nice she looked in black-
freckled muslin ; but he wanted to marry her in silence,
without any clash of absurd trumpets, without ridicule-
moving leading articles, and fingers pointed at the
triumphant lion. He made up his mind to one of those
alternatives, and resolved that he would settle which on that
very night. His mind should be made up and told to his
mother before he went to bed. Nevertheless, when the
girls and Jack- were gone, and he was left alone with
Lady Ball, his mind had as yet been made up to
nothing !

His mother gave him no peace on this subject. It waa
Bhe who began the conversation on this occasion.

THE LION STTJNO BY THE WASP. 366

" John," she said, " the time has come for me to settle the
question of my residence."

Now the house at Twickenham was the property of the
present baronet, but Lady Ball had a jointure of five hun-
dred a year out of her late husband's estate. It had always
been intended that the mother should continue to live with
her son and grandchildren in the very probable event of her
being left a widow ; and it was felt by them all that their
means were not large enough to permit, with discretion,
separate households ; but Lady Ball had declared more than
once with extreme vehemence that nothing should induce
her to live at the Cedars if Margaret Mackenzie should be
made mistress of the house.

" Has the time come especially to-day ? " he asked in
reply.

" I think we may say it has come especially to-day. We
know now that you have got this increase to your income,
and nothing is any longer in doubt that we cannot ourselves
settle. I need not say that my dearest wish is to remain
here, but you know my mind upon that subject."

" I cannot see any possible reason for your going."

" Nor can I, — except the one. I suppose you know your-
self what you mean to do about your cousin. Everybody
knows what you ought to do after the disgraceful things
that have been put into all the newspapers."

" That has not been Margaret's fault."

" I am by no means so sure of that. Indeed, I think it has
been her fault ; and now she has made herself notorious by
being at this bazaar, and by having herself called a ridicu-
lous name by everybody. Nothing will make me believe but
what she likes it."

" You are ready to believe any evil of her, mother ; and
yet it is not two years since you yourself wished me to
marry her."

" Things are very different since that ; — very different,
indeed. And I did not know her then as I do now, or I
should never have thought of such a thing, let her have had
all the money in the world. She had not misbehaved her-
self then with that horrible curate."

" She has not misbehaved herself now," said the son, in an
angry voice,

MISS MACKENZIE.

" Yes, she has, John," said the mother, in a voice still
more angry.

" That's a matter for me to judge. She has not misbe-
haved herself in my eyes. It is a great misfortune, — a
great misfortune for us both, — the conduct of this man ;
but I won't allow it to be said that it was her
fault."

"Very well. Then I suppose I may arrange to go. I
did not think, John, that I should be turned out of your
father's house so soon after your father's death. I did not
indeed."

Thereupon Lady Ball got out her handkerchief, and
her son perceived that real tears were running down her
face.

" Nobody has ever spoken of your going except yourself,
mother."

" I won't live in the house with her."

" And what would you have me do ? Would you wish me
to let her go her way and starve by herself? "

" No, John ; certainly not. I think you should see that
she wants for nothing. She could live with her sister-in-
law, and have the interest of the money that the Bubbs took
from her. It was your money."

" I have explained to you over and over again, mother,
that that has already been made over to Mrs. Tom Mackenzie ;
and that would not have been at all sufficient. Indeed, I
have altogether made up my mind upon that. When the
lawyers and all the expenses are paid, there will still be
about eight hundred a year. I shall share it with her."

" John ! "

" That is my intention ; and therefore if I were to marry
her I should get an additional income of four hundred a year
for myself and my children."

" You don't mean it, John ? "

" Indeed I do, mother. I'm sure the world would expect
me to do as much as that."

" The world expect you ! And are you to rob your chil-
dren, John, because the world expects it ? I never heard
of such a thing. Give away four hundred a year merely
because you are afraid of those wretched newspapers ! I
did expect you would have more courage."

THE LION STUNG BY THE WASP. 36 7

"If I do not do one, mother, I shall do the other
certainly."

" Then I must beg you to tell me which you mean to
do. If you give her half of all that is coming to you,
of course I must remain here because you could not live
here without me. Your income would be quite insuffi-
cient. But you do owe it to me to tell me at once what
I am to do."

To this her son made no immediate answer, but sat
with his elbow on the table, and his head upon his hand
looking moodily at the fire-place. He did not wish to
commit himself if he could possibly avoid it.

" John, I must insist upon an answer," said his mother.
"I have a right to expect an answer."

" You must do what you like, mother, independently of
me. If you think you can live here on your income, I
will go away, and you shall have the place."

" That's nonsense, John. Of course you want a large
house for the children, and I must be alone, I shall only
want one room for myself. What should I do with the
house ? "

Then there was silence again for a while.

" I will give you a final answer on Saturday," he said
at last. " I shall see Margaret before Saturday."

After that he took his candle and went to bed. It was
then Tuesday, and Lady Ball was obliged to bo contented
with the promise thus made to her.

On the Wednesday he did nothing. On the Thursday
morning he received a letter which nearly drove him
mad. It was addressed to him at the office of the
Shadrach Fire Insurance Company, and it reached
him there. It was as follows : —

"Littlebath, — June, 186—.

" Sir, — You are no doubt fully aware of all the efforts
which I have made during the last six months to secure
from your grasp the fortune which did belong to my
dear, — my dearest friend, Margaret Mackenzie. For as
my dearest friend I shall ever regard her, though she and I
have been separated by machinations of the nature of which
she, as I am fully sure, has never been aware. I now ascer-

368 MISS MACKENZIE.

tain that some of the inferior law courts have, under what
pressure I know not, set aside the will which was made
twenty years ago in favour of the Mackenzie family, an<L
given to you the property which did belong to them. That]
a superior court would reverse the judgment, I believe there I
is little doubt ; but whether or no the means exist for me to:
bring the matter before the higher tribunals of the country
I am not yet aware. Very probably I may have no such
power, and in such case, Margaret Mackenzie is, to-day,
through your means, a beggar.

" Since this matter has been before the public you have in-f
geniously contrived to mitigate the wrath of public opinion •
by letting it be supposed that you purposed to marry the;
lady whose wealth you were seeking to obtain by legal!
quibbles. You have made your generous intentions very!
public, and have created a romance that has been, I must!
say, but little becoming to your age. If all be true that li
heard when I last saw Miss Mackenzie at Twickenham, you
have gone through some ceremony of proposing to her.!
But, as I understand, that joke is now thought to have been ''
carried far enough ; and as the money is your own, you in- j
tend to enjoy yourself as a lion, leaving the lamb to perish
in the wilderness.

"Now I call upon you to assert, under your own name
and with your own signature, what are your intentions with
reference to Margaret Mackenzie. Her property, at any
rate for the present, is yours. Do you intend to make her
your wife, or do you not ? And if such be your intention,
when do you purpose that the marriage shall take place, and
where ?

" I reserve to myself the right to publish this letter and
your answer to it ; and of course shall publish the fact if
your cowardice prevents you from answering it. Indeed no-
thing shall induce me to rest in this matter till I know that
I have been the means of restoring to Margaret Mackenzie
the means of decent livelihood.

" I have the honour to be, Sir,

" Your very humble servant,

"JEKEMIAH MAGUIRE.

" Sir John Ball, Bart., &c., &c.,
" Shadrach Fire Office."

THE LIOK STUNG BY THE WASP. 869

Sir John, when he had read this, was almost wild with
agony and anger. He threw up his hands with dismay as
he walked along the passages of the Shadrach Office, and
fulminated mental curses against the wasp that was able to
sting him so deeply. What should he do to the man ? As
for answering the letter, that was of course out of
the question ; but the reptile would carry out his
threat of publishing the letter, and then the whole question
of his marriage would be discussed in the public prints. An
idea came across him that a free press was bad and rot-
ten from the beginning to the end. This creature was
doing him a terrible injury, was goading him almost to
death, and yet he could not punish him. He was a
clergyman, and could be beaten and kicked, or even fired
at with a pistol. As for prosecuting the miscreant, had
not his own lawyer told him over and over again that such
a prosecution was the very thing which the miscreant de-
sired ? And then the additional publicity of such a prosecu-
tion, and the twang of false romance which would follow,
and the horrid alliteration of the story of the two beasts,
and all the ridicule of the incidents, crowded upon his mind,
and he walked forth from the Shadrach Office among the
throngs of the city a wretched and almost despairing man.

370 MISS MACKENZIE.

CHAPTER XXIX.

A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND INDEED.

WHEN the work of the bazaar was finished all the font
Mackenzie ladies went home to Mrs. Mackenzie's house in
Cavendish Square, very tired, eager for tea, and resolved
that nothing more should be done that evening. There
should be no dressing for dinner, no going out, nothing but
idleness, tea, lamb chops, and gossip about the day's work.
Mr. Mackenzie was down at the House, and there was no
occasion for any domestic energy. And thus the evening
was passed. How Mrs. Chaucer Munro and the loud bevy
fared among them, or how old Lady Ware and her daughters,
or the poor, dear, bothered duchess, or Mr. Manfred Smith,
or the kings and heroes who had appeared in paint and
armour, cannot here be told. I fear that the Mackenzie
verdict about the bazaar in general was not favourable, and
that they agreed among themselves to abstain from such
enterprises of charity in future. It concerns us now chiefly
to know that our Griselda held up her head well throughout
that evening, and made herself comfortable and at her ease
among her cousins, although it was already known to her
that the legal decision had gone against her in the great
case of Ball v. Mackenzie. But had that decision been
altogether in her favour, the result would not have been so
favourable to her spirits, as had been that little speech mad «?
by Mrs. Mackenzie as to her having no right as yet to scolq
Sir John for his extravagance ; — that little speech made in
good humour, and apparently accepted in good humour even
by him. But on that evening Mrs. Mackenzie was not able-

A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND INDE&X 371

to speak to Margaret about her prospects, or to lecture her
on the expediency of regarding the nicenesses of her dress
*n Sir John's presence, because of the two other cousins.
The two other cousins, no doubt, knew all the story of the
Lion and the Lamb, and talked to their sister-in-law, Clara,
of their other cousin, Griselda, behind Griselda's back ; and
were no doubt very anxious that Griselda should become a
baronet's wife ; but among so large a party there was no
opportunity for confidential advice.

On the next morning Mrs. Mackenzie and Margaret were
together, and then Mrs. Mackenzie began :

" Margaret, my dear," said she, " that bonnet I gave you
has been worth its weight in gold."

" It cost nearly as much," said Margaret, " for it was very
expensive and very light."

" Or in bank-notes either, because it has shown him and
me and everybody else that you needn't be a dowdy unless
you please. No man wishes to marry a dowdy, you know."

" I suppose I was a dowdy when he asked me."

" I wasn't there, and didn't know you then, and can't say.
But I do know that he liked the way you looked yesterday.
Now, of course, he'll be coming here before long."

" I dare say he won't come here again the whole summer."

" If he did not, I should send for him."

" Oh, Mrs. Mackenzie ! "

" And oh, Griselda ! Why should I not send for him ?
Yon don't suppose I'm going to let this kind of thing go on
from month to month, till that old woman at the Cedars has
contrived to carry her point. Certainly not."

" Now that the matter is settled, of course, I shall not go
on staying here."

" Not after you're married, my dear. We couldn't well
take in Sir John and all the children. Besides, we shall be
going down to Scotland for the grouse. But I mean you
shall be married out of this house. Don't look so astonished.
Why not ? There's plenty of time before the end of July."

" I don't think he means anything of the kind ; I don't
indeed."

" Then he must be the queerest man that ever I met j and
I should say about the falsest and most heartless also. But
whether he means to do that or does not, he must mean to
24—2

372 MISS MACKEKZIB.

do something. You don't suppose he'll take all your fortune
away frpm you, and then leave you without coming to say a
word to you about it ? If you had disputed the matter, and
put him to all manner of expense ; if, in short, you had been
enemies through it all, that might have been possible. But
you have been such a veritable lamb, giving your fleece to
the shearer so meekly, — such a true Griselda, that if he were
to leave you in that way, no one would ever speak to him
again."

" But you forget Lady Ball."

",No, I don't. He'll have a disagreeable scene with his
mother, and I don't pretend to guess what will be the end
of that ; but when he has done with his mother, he'll come
here. He must do it. He has no alternative. And when
he does come, I want you to look your best. Believe me, my
dear, there would be no muslins in the world and no starch,
if it was not intended that people should make themselves
look as nice as possible."

" Young people," suggested Margaret.

" Young people, as you call them, can look well without
muslin and without starch. Such things were intended for
just such persons as you and me ; and as for me, I make it
a rule to take the goods the gods provide me."

Mrs. Mackenzie's philosophy was not without its result,
and her prophecy certainly came true. A few days passed
by and no lover came, but early on the Friday morning after
the bazaar, Margaret, who at the moment was in her own
room, was told that Sir John was below in the drawing-room
with Mrs. Mackenzie. He had already been there some
little time, the servant said, and Mrs. Mackenzie had sent up
with her love to know if Miss Mackenzie would come down.
"Would she go down? Of course she would go to her
cousin. She was no coward. Indeed, a true Griselda can
hardly be a coward. So she made up her mind to go to
her cousin and hear her fate.

The last four-and-twenty hours had been very bitter
with Sir John Ball. What was he to do, walking about
with that man's letter in his pocket, — with that reptile's
venom still curdling through his veins ? On that Thursday
morning, as he went towards his office, he had made up
his mind, as he thought, to go to Margaret and bid her choose

A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND INDEED. 373

her own destiny. She should become his wife, or have half
of Jonathan Ball's remaining fortune, as she might herself
elect. " She refused me," he said to himself, " when the
money was all hers. Why should she wish to come to such
a house as mine, to marry a dull husband and undertake the
charge of a lot of children? She shall choose herself."
And then he thought of her as he had seen her at the bazaar,
and began to flatter himself that, in spite of his dulness and
his children, she would choose to become his wife. He was
making some scheme as to his mother's life, proposing that
two of his girls should live with her, and that she should be
near to him, when the letter from Mr. Maguire was put into
his hands.

How was he to marry his cousin after that ? If he were
to do so, would not that wretch at Littlebath declare, through
all the provincial and metropolitan newspapers, that he had
compelled the marriage ? That letter would be published in
the very column that told of the wedding. But yet he must
decide. He must do something. They who read this will
probably declare that he was a weak fool to regard anything
that such a one as Mr. Maguire could say of him. He was
not a fool, but he was so far weak and foolish ; and in such
matters such men are weak and foolish, and often cowardly.

It was, however, absolutely necessary that he should do
something. He was as well aware as was Mrs. Mackenzie
that it was essentially his duty to see his cousin, now Ihat
the question of law between them had been settled. Even
if he had no thought of again asking her to be his wife, he
could not confide to any one else the task of telling her what
what was to be her fate. Her conduct to him in the matter
of the property had been exemplary, and it was incumbent
on him to thank her for her generous forbearance. He had
pledged himself also to give his mother a final answer on
Saturday.

On the Friday morning, therefore, he knocked at the
Mackenzies' house door in Cavendish Square, and soon found
himself alone with Mrs. Mackenzie. I do not know that
even then he had' come to any fixed purpose. What he
would himself have preferred would have been permission
to postpone any action as regarded his cousin for another
six months, and to have been empowered to use that tiw** i>j

374 MISS MACKENZIE.

crushing Mr. Maguire out of existence. But this might not
be so, and therefore he went to Cavendish Square that he
might there decide his fate.

" You want to see Margaret, no doubt," said Mrs. Mac-
kenzie, "that you may tell her that her ruin is finally
completed ; " and as she thus spoke of her cousin's ruin, she
smiled her sweetest smile and put on her pleasantest look.

"Yes, I do want to see her presently," he said.

Mrs. Mackenzie had stood up as though she were about
to go in quest of her cousin, but had sat down again when
the word presently was spoken. She was by no means
averse to having a few words of conversation about Margaret,
if Sir John should wish it. Sir John, I fear, had merely
used the word through some instinctive idea that he might
thereby stave off the difficulty for a while.

" Don't you think she looked very well at the bazaar ? "
said Mrs. Mackenzie.

" Very well, indeed," he answered ; " very well. I can't
say I liked the place."

" Nor any of us, I can assure you. Only one must do that
sort of thing sometimes, you know. Margaret was very
much admired there. So much has been said of this singular
story about her fortune, that people have, of course, talked
more of her than they would otherwise have done."

"That has been a great misfortune," said Sir John,
frowning.

" It has been a misfortune, but it has been one of those
things that can't be helped. I don't think you have any
cause to complain, for Margaret has behaved as no other
woman ever did behave, I think. Her conduct has been
perfect.'*

" I don't complain of her."

" As for the rest, you must settle that with the world
yourself. I don't care for any one beyond her. But, for my
part, I think it is the best to let those things die away of
themselves. After all, what does it matter as long as one
does nothing to be ashamed of oneself ? People can't break
any bones by their talking."

" Wouldn't you think it very unpleasant, Mrs. Mackenzie,
to have your name brought up in the newspapers ? "

"Upon my word I 'don't think I should care about it as

A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FEIEND INDEED. 375

long as my husband stood by me. What is it after all -
People say that you and Margaret are the Lion and tne
Lamb. What's the harm of being called a lamb or a lion
either ? As long as people are not made to believe that you
have behaved badly, that you have been false or cruel, I can't
see that it comes to much. One does not, of course, wish to
ave newspaper articles written about one."

" No, indeed."

" But they can't break your bones, nor can they make the
world think you dishonest, as long as you take care that you
are honest. Now, in this matter, I take it for granted that
you and Margaret are going to make a match of it ."

" Has she told you so ? "

Mrs. Mackenzie paused a moment to collect her thoughts
before she answered ; but it was only for a moment, and
Sir John Ball hardly perceived that she had ceased to
speak.

" No," she said ; " she has not told me so. But I have
told her that it must be so."

" And she does not wish it ? "

" Do you want me to tell a lady's secret P But in such a
case as this the truth is always the best. She does wish it,
with all her heart, — as much as any woman ever wished for
anything. You need have no doubt about her loving you."

" Of course, Mrs. Mackenzie, I should take care in any
case that she were provided for amply. If a single life will
suit her best, she shall have half of all that she ever thought
to be her own."

" And do you wish it to be so ?"

" I have not said that, Mrs. Mackenzie. But it may be
that I should wish her to have the choice fairly in her
own power."

" Then I can tell you at once which she would choose.
Your offer is very generous. It is more than generous.
But, Sir John, a single life will not suit her ; and my belief
is, that were you to offer her the mon-ey without your hand,
she would not take a farthing of it."

" She must have some provision."

" She will take none from you but the one, and you need
be under no doubt whatsoever that she will take that with-
out a moment's doubt as to her own future happiness. And,

376 MISS MACKENZIE.

Sir John, I think you would have the best wife that I know
anywhere among my acquaintance." Then she stopped, and
he sat silent, making- no reply. " Shall I send to her now ? "
said Mrs. Mackenzie.

" I suppose you might as well," said Sir John.

Then Mrs. Mackenzie got up and left the room, but she
did not herself go up to her cousin. She felt that she could
not see Margaret without saying something of what had
passed between herself and Sir John, and that it would
be better that nothing should be said. So she went away
to her own room, and despatched her maid to send the
lamb to the lion. Nevertheless, it was not without com-
punction, some twang of feminine conscience, that Mrs.
Mackenzie gave up this opportunity of saying some last
important word, and perhaps doing some last important
little act with regard to those nicenesses of which she
thought perhaps too much. Mrs. Mackenzie's philosophy
was not without its truth ; but a man of fifty should not
be made to marry a woman by muslin and starch, if he
be not prepared to marry her on other considerations.

When the message came, Margaret thought nothing of
the muslin and starch. The bonnet that had been worth
its weight in gold, and the black-freckled dress, were all
forgotten. But she thought of the words which her cousin
John had spoken to her as soon as they had got through
the little gate into the grounds of the Cedars when they
had walked back together from the railway station at
Twickenham ; and she remembered that she had then
pledged herself to be firm. If he alluded to the offer he
had then made, and repeated it, she would throw herself
into his arms at once, and tell him that she would serve
him with all her heart and all her strength as long as
God might leave them together. But she was quite as
strongly determined to accept from him for herself no
other kind of provision. That money which for a short
while had been hers was now his; and she could have no
claim upon him unless he gave her the claim of a wife.
After what had passed between them she would not be
the recipient of his charity. Certain words had been
written and spoken from which she had gathered the
existence, in Mr. Slow's mind, of some such plan as this.

A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND INDEEE. 377

His client should lose her cause meekly and graciously, and
should then have a claim for alms. That had been the idea
on which Mr. Slow had worked. She had long made up
her mind that Mr. Slow should be taught to know her better,
if the day for such offering of alms should ever come.
Perhaps it had come now. She took up a little scarf that
she wore ordinarily and folded it tight across her shoulders,
quite forgetful of muslin and starch, as she descended to the
drawing-room in order that this question might be solved
for her.

Sir John met her almost at the door as she entered.

" I'm afraid you've been expecting me to come sooner," he
said.

" No, indeed ; 1 was not quite sure that you would come
at all."

" Oh, yes ; I was certain to come. You have hardly
received as yet any official notification that your cause has
been lost."

"It was not my cause, John," she said, smiling, "and I
received no other notification than what I got through Mrs.
Mackenzie. Indeed, as you know, I have regarded this law
business as nonsense all through. Since what you and Mr.
Slow told me, I have known that the property was yours."

" But it was quite necessary to have a judgment."

" I suppose so, and there's an end of it. I, for one, am
not in the least disappointed, — if it will give you any comfort
to know that."

" I don't believe that any other woman in England would
have lost her fortune with the equanimity that you have
shown."

She could not explain to him that, in the first days of
dismay caused by that misfortune, he had given her such
consolation as to make her forget her loss, and that her
subsequent misery had been caused by the withdrawal of
that consolation. She could not tell him that the very
memory of her money had been, as it were, drowned by other
hopes in life, — by other hopes and by other despair. But
when he praised her for her equanimity, she thought of this.
She still smiled as she heard his praise.

" I suppose I ought to return the compliment," she said,
" and declare that no cousin who had been kept so long out

378 MISS MACKENZIE.

of his own money ever behaved so well as you have done. I
can assure you that I have thought of it very often, — of the
injustice that has been involuntarily done to you."

" It has been unjust, has it not ? " said he, piteously,
thinking of his injuries. "So much of it has gone in that
oilcloth business, and all for nothing ! "

"I'm glad at any rate that Walter's share did not
go."

He knew that this was not the kind of conversation which
he had desired to commence, and that it must be changed
before anything could be settled. So he shook himself and
began again.

" And now, Margaret, as the lawyers have finished their
part of the business, ours must begin."

She had been standing hitherto and had felt herself to be
strong enough to stand, but at the sound of these words her
knees had become weak under her, and she found a retreat
upon the sofa. Of course she said nothing as he came and
stood over her.

" I hope you have understood," he continued, " that while
all this was going on I could propose no arrangement of
any kind."

" I know you have been very much troubled."

"Indeed I have. It seems that any blackguard has a
right to publish any lies that he likes about any one in any
of the newspapers, and that nobody can do anything to
protect himself ! Sometimes I have thought that it would
drive me mad."

But he again perceived that he was getting out of the
right course in thus dwelling upon his own injuries. He
had come there to alleviate her misfortunes, not to talk about
his own.

" It is no good, however, talking about all that ; is it
Margaret ? "

" It will cease now, will it not ? "

" I cannot say. I fear not. Whichever way I turn, they
abuse me for what I do. What business is it of theirs ? "

" You mean their absurd story, — calling you a lion."

" Don't talk of it, Margaret."

Then Margaret was again silent. She by no means
wished to talk of the story, if he would only leave it alone.

A FKIEND IN NEED IS A FEIEND INDEED. 379

" And now about you."

Then he came and sat beside her, and she put her hand
back behind the cushion on the sofa so as to save herself
from trembling in his presence. She need not have cared
much, for, let her tremble ever so much, he had then no
capacity for perceiving it.

" Come, Margaret ; I want to do what is best for us both.
How shall it be ? "

" John, you have children, and you should do what is best
for them."

Then there was a pause again, and when he spoke after a
while, he was looking down at the floor and poking among
the pattern on the carpet with his stick.

"Margaret, when I first asked you to marry me, you
refused me."

"I did," said she; "and then all the property was
mine."

"But afterwards you said you would have me."

" Yes ; and when you asked me the second time I had
nothing. I know all that."

" I thought nothing about the money then. I mean that
I never thought you refused me because you were rich and
took me because you were poor. I was not at all unhappy
about that when we were walking round the shrubbery.
But when I thought you had cared for that man "

" I had never cared for him," said Margaret, withdrawing
her hand from behind the pillow in her energy, and fearing
no longer that she might tremble. " I had never cared for
him. He is a false man, and told untruths to my aunt."

" Yes, he is a liar ; — a damnable liar. That is true at
any rate."

" He is beneath your notice, John, and beneath mine. I
will not speak of him."

Sir John, however, had an idea that when he felt the
wasp's venom through all his blood, the wasp could not be
altogether beneath his notice.

" The question is," said he, speaking between his teeth,
and hardly pronouncing his words, " the question is whether
you care for me."

" I do," said she turning round upon him ; and as she did
so our Griselda took botb his hands in hers. " I do, John.

380 MISS MACKENZIE.

I do care for you. I love you better than all the world
besides. Whom else have I to love at all ? If you choose
to think it mean of me, now that I am so poor, I cannot help
it. But who was it told me to be firm ? Who was it told
me ? Who was it told me ? "

Lady Ball had lost her game, and Mrs. Mackenzie had
been a true prophet. Mrs. Mackenzie had been one of those
prophets who knew how to assist the accomplishment of
their own prophecies, and Lady Ball had played her game
with very indifferent skill. Sir John endeavoured to say a
word as to that other alternative that he had to offer, but
the lamb was not lamb-like enough to listen to it. I doubt
even whether Margaret knew, when at night she thought
over the affairs of the day, that any such offer had been
made to her. During the rest of the interview she was by
far the greatest talker, and she would not rest till she had
made him swear that he believed her when she said, that
both in rejecting him and accepting him, she had been
guided simply by her affection. " You know, John," she
said, " a woman can't love a man all at once."

They had been together for the best part of two hours,
when Mrs. Mackenzie knocked at the door.

" May I come in ? "

" Oh, yes," said Margaret.

" And may I ask a question ? " She knew by the tone of
ner cousin's voice that no question could come amiss.

" You must ask him," said Margaret, coming to her and
missing her.

" But, first of all," said Mrs. Mackenzie, shutting the door
and assuming a very serious countenance, " I have news of
my own to tell. There is a gentleman down stairs in the
dining-room who has sent up word that he wants to see me.
He says he is a clergyman."

Then Sir John Ball ceased to smile, and look foolish, but
doubled his fist, and went towards the door.

" Who is it ? " said Margaret, whispering.

" I have not heard his name, but from the servant's
account of him I have not much doubt myself ; I suppose he
comes from Littlebath. You can go down to him, if you
like, Sir John ; but I would not advise it."

" No," said Margaret, clinging to his arm, " you shall not

A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND INDEED. 381

go down. What good can you do ? He is beneath you.
If you beat him he will have the law of you, — and he is a
clergyman. If you do not, he will only revile you, and
make you wretched." Thus between the two ladies the
baronet was restrained.

It was Mr. Maguire. Having learned from his ally, Miss
Colza, that Margaret was staying with her cousins in
Cavendish Square, he had resolved upon calling on Mrs.
Mackenzie, and forcing his way, if possible, into Margaret's
presence. Things were not going well with him at Little-
bath, and in his despair he had thought that the best
chance to him of carrying on the fight lay in this direction.
Then there was a course of embassies between the dining-
room and drawing-room in the Mackenzie mansion. The
servant was sent to ask the gentleman his name, and the
gentleman sent up to say that he was a clergyman ; —
that his name was not known to Mrs. Mackenzie, but
that he wanted to see her most particularly for a few
minutes on very special business. Then the servant was
despatched to ask him whether or no he was the Rev.
Jeremiah Maguire, of Littlebath, and under this compulsion
he sent back word that such was his designation. He
was then told to go. Upon that he wrote a note to
Mrs. Mackenzie, setting forth that he had a private com-
munication to make, much to the advantage of her cousin,
Miss Margaret Mackenzie. He was again told to go ;
and then told again, that if he did not leave the house
at once, the assistance of the police would be obtained.
Then he went. "And it was frightful to behold him,"
said the servant, coming up for the tenth time. But the
servant no doubt enjoyed the play, and on one occasion
presumed to remark that he did not think any reference
to the police was necessary. *' Such a game as we've
had up ! " he said to the coachman that afternoon in the
kitchen.

And the game that they had in the drawing-room
was not a bad game either. When Mr. Maguire would
not go, the two women joined in laughing, till at last
the tears ran down Mrs. Mackenzie's face.

" Only think of our being kept prisoners here by a one-
eyed clergyman."

382 MISS MACKENZIE.

"He has got two eyes," said Margaret. "If he had tec
he shan't see us."

And at last Sir John laughed ; and as he laughed he
came and stood near Margaret ; and once he got his arm
round her waist, and Griselda was very happy. At the
present moment she was quite indifferent to Mr. Maguire
and any mode of fighting that he might adopt.

tOKCLUSION. 383

CHAPTER XXX

CONCLUSION.

TKINGS had not been going well with Mr. Maguire when,
c\s a last chance, he attempted to force an entrance into
Mrs. Mackenzie's drawing-room. Things, indeed, had been
going very badly with him. Mr. Stumfold at Littlebath
had had an interview with the editor of the Christian
Examiner, and had made that provincial Jupiter understand
that he must drop the story of the Lion and the Lamb.
There had been more than enough of it, Mr. Stumfold
thought ; and if it were continued, Mr. Stumfold would, —
would make Littlebath too hot to hold the Examiner Christian.
That was the full meaning of Mr. Stumfold's threat ; and,
as the editor knew Mr. Stumfold's power, the editor wisely
turned a cold shoulder upon Mr. Maguire. When Mr.
Maguire came to the editor with his letter for publication,
the editor declared that he should be happy to insert it — as
an advertisement. Then there had been a little scene
between Mr. Maguire and the editor, and Mr. Maguire had
left the editorial office shaking the dust from off his feet.
But he was a persistent man, and, having ascertained that
Miss Colza was possessed of some small share in her brother's
business in the city, he thought it expedient to betake him-
self again to London. He did so, as we have seen ; and
with some very faint hope of obtaining collateral advantage
for himself, and some stronger hope that he might still be
able to do an injury to Sir John Ball, he went to the Mac-
kenzies' house in Cavendish Square. There his success was
not great j and from that time forward the wasp had no

884 MISS MACKENZIE.

further power of inflicting stings upon the lion whom he had
persecuted.

But some further annoyance he did give to Griselda. He
managed to induce Mrs. Tom Mackenzie to take him in as a
lodger in Gower Street, and Margaret very nearly ran into
his way in her anxiety to befriend her sister-in-law. Luckily
she heard from Mr. Rubb that he was there on the very day
on which she had intended to visit Gower Street. Poor
Mrs. Mackenzie got the worst of it ; for of course Mr.
Maguire did not pay for his lodgings. But he did marry
Miss Colza, and in some way got himself instituted to a
chapel at Islington. There we will leave him, not trusting
much in his connubial bliss, but faintly hoping that his
teaching may be favourable to the faith and morals of his
new flock.

Of Mr. Samuel Rubb, junior, we must say a few words.
His first acquaintance with our heroine was not made under
circumstances favourable to him. In that matter of the
loan, he departed very widely from the precept which teaches
us that honesty is the best policy. And when I feel that our
Margaret was at one time really in danger of becoming Mrs.
Rubb, — that in her ignorance of the world, in the dark
gropings of her social philosophy, amidst the difficulties of
her solitude, she had not known whether she could do better
with herself and her future years, than give herself, and them,
and her money to Mr. Samuel Bubb, I tremble as I look back
upon her danger. It has been said of women that they have
an insane desire for matrimony. I believe that the desire, even
if it be as general as is here described, is no insanity. But
when I see such a woman as Margaret Mackenzie in danger
from such a man as Samuel Rubb, junior, I am driven to fear
that there may sometimes be a maniacal tendency. But
Samuel Rubb was by no means a bad man. He first
hankered after the woman's money, but afterwards he had
loved the woman ; and my female reader, if she agrees with
me, will feel that that virtue covers a multitude of sins.

And he was true to the promise that he made about the
loan. He did pay the interest of the money regularly to
Mrs. Mackenzie in Gower Street, and after a while was
known in that house as the recognised lover of Mary Jane,
the eldest daughter. In this way it came to pass that be

CONCLUSION. 385

jccasionally saw the lady to whose hand lie had aspired ; for
Margaret, when she was assured that Mr. Maguire and his
bride were never likely to be seen in that locality, did not
desert her nephews and nieces in Gower Street.

Bat we must go back to Sir John Ball. As soon as the
coast was clear in Cavendish Square, he took his leave of
Margaret. Mrs. Mackenzie had left the room, desiring to
speak a word to him alone as he came down.

" I shall tell my mother to-night," he said to Margaret.
" You know that all this is not exactly as she wishes it."

" John," she said, " if it is as you wish it, I have no right
to think of anything beyond that."

" It is as I wish it," said he.

" Then tell my aunt, with my love, that I shall hope that
she will receive me as her daughter."

Then they parted, and Margaret was left alone to con-
gratulate herself over her success.

" Sir John," said Mrs. Mackenzie, calling him into the
drawing-room ; " you must hear my congratulations ; you
must, indeed."

" Thank you," said he, looking foolish ; " you are very
good."

" And so is she. She is what you may really call good.
She is as good as gold. I know a woman when I see her ;
and I know that for one like her there are fifty not fit to
hold a candle to her. She has nothing mean or little about
her, — nothing. They may call her a lamb, but she can be
a lioness too when there is an occasion."

" I know that she is steadfast," said he.

" That she is, and honest, and warm-hearted ; and — and

Oh ! Sir John, I am so happy that it is all to be made

right, and nice, and comfortable. It would have been very
sad if she hadn't gone with the money ; would it not ? "

" I should not have taken the money, — not all of it."

" And she would not have taken any. She would not have
taken a penny of it, though we need not mind that now ;
need we ? But there is one thing I want to say ; you must
not think I am interfering."

" I shan't think that after all that you have done."

" I want her to be married from here. It would be quite
proper ; wouldn't it ? Mr. Mackenzie is a little particular
25

1

386 MISS MACKENZIE^

about the grouse, because there is to be a large party at
Incharrow ; but up to the 10th of August you and she
should fix any day you liked."

Sir John showed by his countenance that he was some-
what taken aback. The 10th of August, and here they were
far advanced into June ! When he had left home this
morning he had not fully made up his mind whether he
meant to marry his cousin or not ; and now, within a few
hours, he was being confined to weeks and days ! Mrs.
Mackenzie saw what was passing in his mind ; but she was
not a woman to be driven easily from her purpose.

"You see," she said, "there is so much to think of.
What is Margaret to do, if we leave her in London when we
go down ? And it would really be better for her to bo
married from her cousin's house ; it would, indeed. Lady
Ball would like it better, — I'm sure she would, — than if she
were to be living alone in the town in lodgings. There is
always a way of doing things ; isn't there ? And Walter's
sisters, her own cousins, could be her bridesmaids, you
know."

Sir John said that he would think about it.

" I haven't spoken to her, of course," said Mrs. Mackenzie ;
"but I shall now."

Sir John, as he went eastwards into the city, did think
about it ; and before he had reached his own house that
evening, he had brought himself to regard Mrs. Mackenzie's
scheme in a favourable light. He was not blind to the
advantage of taking his wife from a house in Cavendish
Square, instead of from lodgings in Arundel Street ; and he
was aware that his mother would not be blind to that
advantage either. He did not hope to be able to reconcile
her to his marriage at once j and perhaps he entertained
some faint idea that for the first six months of his new
married life the Cedars would be quite as pleasant without
his mother as with her ; but a final reconciliation would be
more easy if he and his wife had the Mackerizies of Inch-
arrow to back them, than it could be without such influence.
And as for the London gossip of the thing, the finale to the
romance of the Lion and the Lamb, it would be sure to come
sooner or later. Let them have their odious joke and have
done with it !

CONCLUSION. 387

" Mother," he said, as soon as he could find himself alone
vith Lady Ball that day, not waiting for the midnight
jonference ; " mother, I may as well tell you at once. I
lave proposed to Margaret Mackenzie again to-day."

" Oh ! very well."

" And she has accepted me."

:i Accepted you ! of course she has ; jumped at the chance,
10 doubt. What else should a pauper do ? "

** Mother, that is ungenerous."

" She did not accept you when she had got anything."

" If I can reconcile myself to that, surely you can do so.
The matter is settled now, and I think I have done the best
n my power for myself and my children."

" And as for your mother, she may go and die anywhere."

" Mother, that is unfair. As long as I have a house over
ny head, you shall share it, if you please to do so. If it
.uits you to go elsewhere, I will be with you as often as may
)e possible. I hope, however, you will not leave us."

"That I shall certainly do." '

" Then I hope that you will not go far from me."

"And when is it to be ? " said his mother, after a pause.

" I cannot name any day ; but some time before the 10th
if August."

" Before the 10th of August ! Why, that is at once.
)h ! John ; and your father not dead a year ! "

" Margaret has a home now with her cousins in Cavendish
Square ; but she cannot stay there after they go to Scotland,
.t will be for her welfare that she should be married from
Iheir house. And as for my father's death, I know that you
lo not suspect me of disrespect to his memory."

And in this way it was settled at the Cedars ; and his
nother's question about the time drove him to the resolution
vhich he himself had not reached. When next he was in
Cavendish Square he asked Margaret whether she could be
eady so soon, and she replied that she would be ready on
,ny day that he told her to be ready.

Thus it was settled, and with a moderate amount of
tuptial festivity the marriage feast was prepared in Mrs.
Mackenzie's house. Margaret was surprised to find how
nany dear friends she had who were interested in her
welfare. Miss Baker wrote to her most affectionately ; and
25—2

388

MISS MACKENZIE.

Miss Todd was warm in her congratulations. But the
attention which perhaps surprised her most was a warm
letter of sisterly affection " om Mrs. Stumfold, in which that
lady rejoiced with an exceeding joy in that the machinations
of a certain wolf in sheep's clothing had been unsuccessful.
" My anxiety that you should not be sacrificed I once before
evinced to you," said Mrs. Stumfold ; "and within the last
two months Mr. Stumfold has been at work to put an end
to the scurrilous writings which that wolf in sheep's clothing
has been putting into the newspapers." 'Then Mrs. Stumfold
very particularly desired to be remembered to Sir John Ball,
and expressed a hope that, at some future time, she might
vave the honour of being made acquainted with " the worthy
baronet."

They were married in the first week in August, and our
modern Griselda went through the ceremony with much
grace. That there was much grace about Sir John Ball, I
cannot say ; but gentlemen, when they get married at fifty,
are not expected to be graceful.

" There, my Lady Ball," said Mrs. Mackenzie, whispering
into her cousin's ear before they left the church ; " now my
prophecy has come true ; and when we meet in London next
spring, you will reward me for all I have done for you by
walking out of a room before me."

But all these honours, and, what was better, all the happi-
ness that came in her way, Lady Ball accepted thankfully,
quietly, and with an enduring satisfaction, as it became such
a woman to do.

8/ — 7 — 75,

SMITH & BON, 186, BIBAJfD, LOITDOV.

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